Charms Can't Fix Us
by Cordelia McGonagall
Summary: The war is over and Hogwarts still stands. A few "eighth years" choose to come back to finish their schooling in peace, to mentor war-weary children, and to patch together the ends of their teenage years. Hermione learns what she was missing while out with Harry and Ron, Neville flexes his newfound confidence, Parvati brews a perfect Amortentia, and Draco lets go. "M" to be safe.
1. Dissendium

_This entire fan fiction is written based on the stories and characters of J.K. Rowling._

Hermione was staring out the window of the fourth-year Gryffindor girls' dormitory thinking of Harry and Ron and the Yule Ball, four years ago or four worlds away, as the muffled sounds of giggling turned to urgently shushed whispering. She turned to smile at Parvati who was waving her wand to portion a large cauldron of popcorn the house elves had sent up from the kitchens. Hermione turned back to the tea cart under the window and began uncorking bottles of pumpkin juice, setting them on a battered red and gold painted tray stenciled with "Gryffindor Rules and Slytherin Drools."

The two young women were in their old, familiar tower dormitory not as prefects or teachers, but as returning students, war veterans, who wanted to finish their studies but weren't able to go back to earning house points and wearing regulation uniforms. Without a firm plan in hand, the professors had invited all the students who lost their seventh year back to return, and Professor McGonagall, now Headmistress, had met with them each in turn to settle their paths for the year, which for most would be an even mixture of independent study, auditing coursework, and time with the Healer from St. Mungo's who had taken up residence in the castle.

When Madam Pomfrey had been told a healer was arriving, she was indignant, until she met the gentle mediwitch who quickly assured her that she was not in the business of healing bones or countering hexes. Healer Carna was more interested in souls, and she would summon a punching bag, tissues, and tea for the battle weary children who needed her.

It was Carna who first tentatively suggested that the "eighth years" who chose to return might, as they were able, be big brothers and sisters, of sorts, to the younger students. The returning students who suffered the most under the Carrows and the enthusiastic student practitioners of the Cruciatus needed support, and the new and younger students would benefit from some organized time for play, which Carna believed would be healing too for the young men and women who had been brutally robbed of their last bits of childhood.

Hermione and Parvati each agreed to this arrangement, Hermione out of duty, hunger for learning, and a desire to nurture and mentor that she'd not realized before, and Parvati out of an anger at what was taken from them all and a deep, gnawing loneliness from the fresh absence of she sister, Padma, and the death of her best friend, Lavender Brown. Parvati had not chosen to move to India with her family, and her fierce bravery compelled her to come back to the place of her personal horror and grieve. She knew that she needed these young girls as much, maybe more, than they needed her. The slumber party she and Hermione had organized for the evening was her idea, and it told her how much they had all aged that Hermione was rather excited about something so juvenile.

Hermione was sadly beginning to realize that she had really missed out on many rites of passage for girls by having two boys as best friends. More than once as Parvati thought aloud about slumber party plans, it had occurred to her that she wasn't exactly sure of the rituals and particulars. It gave her an odd feeling bouncing between curiosity, nostalgia, and regret. She couldn't fall into her old Hogwarts routines with Harry and Ron, for they had passed on the opportunity to return to pursue Auror training. Neville, Anthony, Hannah, Susan, Seamus, and Dean had returned, and they had all formed a friendship, started with D.A. bonds from the war, that easily left cliques and houses behind.

And then there was Draco. Draco was the only Slytherin to return. After the war, he was sent to St. Mungo's for a month under the care of Healer Carna, while his mother was banished to solitude at Malfoy Manor and his father's soul had been lost to some intentionally unguarded dementors on his way to Azkaban. Draco had, upon leaving his enforced care at St. Mungo's, chosen to follow Carna to Hogwarts. That was the extent of what his fellow students had heard, and no one was sure of what to make of him; his mere shadow caused the Gryffindors to bring their best jinxes to the fronts of their minds, and yet, her he was, with a wand but wholly disarmed, in the care of a Healer. Their instinct would be to close ranks and shut him out entirely, but he was here, and the war was won, and they were all so exhausted from fighting and fear, from holding their wands until their knuckles turned white, of hiding and suspicion. So without a meeting, without any debate or consensus, he joined them, with a studied interest on his and their ends that would have seemed like wariness if he or the rest truly had any defenses left.

Draco needed Hogwarts for its enforced peace and security from the outside world's recovery; he lacked the higher-level knowledge he had not retained in two terror-filled years. Headmistress McGonagall kindly suggested that he was needed in turn, for he was the only Slytherin to join the younger children in their common room. Blaise Zabini had briefly considered returning to Hogwarts but had instead taken an offer to study at Beauxbatons whilst modeling for Glad Rags Wizard Wear in Paris. Pansy had been shipped off to a wizarding finishing school in Switzerland, and Theodore Nott had, without one word to his old friends or family, packed his trunk and arranged a portkey to Nova Scotia. The rest of the Slytherins had either died in the days of chaos following the war or faded quickly into a post-war Wizarding England, leaving Draco, again, utterly alone.

With Draco standing as the only student mentor for Slytherin House, Hermione, more often than she thought she might, surprised herself with wondering what organized activities Draco was creating in the gloomy Slytherin common room. She had not noticed him taking the children on hikes like Neville and Hannah, or wearing them out in quodpot matches like Anthony and Susan had on the first weekend of term. At times, Hermione noticed, Draco would abruptly pull from staring at the magical sky in the Great Hall to look down at the face of a small child and whisper something that would make small, bunched shoulders soften.

It was an encounter like this Hermione mused on now as she put the last of the pumpkin juice bottles on the tray for the girls. Draco had been strolling slowly behind the Slytherin third years as they scurried to their classes. A defeated-looking boy, green and silver tie askew and bag overstuffed, tripped and sent his books flying. Draco summoned them before the bindings broke on the stone floor, and smirking, thrust the filled bag in the boy's arms, ruffling his hair after. Hermione was so startled by this exchange, she was unable to walk and take it all in, instead standing in the middle of the hall, like a stone in the midst of a swift creek, children flowing past her on either side.

"Hellllooooooo? Her-mi-o-neeee? Since when can you not THINK and UNCORK A BOTTLE at the same time?" Parvati snorted.

"With a flush and a smile, Hermione snapped to and finished preparing the snack for the girls.


	2. Rennervate

Lost in her own thoughts, Hermione was not paying any attention to what the girls were busying themselves with in the center of the dormitory. As she set the full tray down on a plush, moth-eaten paisley ottoman nearest to the girls, she could see that they were crowded around a bubbling potion with a mother-of-pearl sheen.

"Heavens, that is Amortentia! You girls didn't brew that yourselves did you?" Hermione peered over the bowed heads to get a better look at the cauldron.

"No, Parvati did," Rosemary Smith, a strawberry blonde fourth year giggled.

"That is...really dangerous stuff! Don't drink it! Don't touch it! I don't even know if Professor Slughorn has the proper antidotes restocked in the Potions cupboard! Half of that hallway was destroyed by giants! What are you even doing with it? I can't believe I am saying this, but isn't it a bit early for NEWT revision?" Hermione's hair was curling in the steam from the cauldron and the frizz of her hair matched her nerves. It was still like this, her fight or flight response kicking off an adrenaline surge, sometimes without ample reason.

The girls tittered knowingly and the youngest, Maeve Wood, squealed, "Parrr-vaaaa-teee! You were right! She said, 'NEWTS'!" and then dissolved into a puddle of giggles on the floor.

Hermione's mouth waffled between fondness and irritation and she flopped onto a floor cushion next to the girls. Looking at Parvati but addressing the girls, Hermione asked, "What's this potion for then, ladies?"

Parvati acknowledged a brief swell of sympathy for her classmate but fought it off with a wry smile.

"Well, Hermione, while you were off saving hippogriffs and Sirius Black," the girls as one whipped their heads toward Hermione, "...your fellow third years were eating popcorn, charming our nails pink and brewing Amortentia. Didn't you notice how well we made it for Slughorn our sixth year?"

"Nooo," Hermione murmured slowly.

"Of course not," Parvati clipped. Her sympathy evaporated like the vapor from the cauldron. Honestly, Hermione was a maddening combination of genius and cluelessness.

"So, girls," Parvati addressed the pajama-clad pile in front of her, "Some of you have not had a bit of fun in a very long time. Here is the game. We take turns smelling the potion. We write down on parchment what we smell, so no one can go back and change her answer for appearance's sake. It's secrecy-charmed, so it's not going to be duplicated or spread around at breakfast," Parvati addressed this bit to a fifth year who had a clue what was going to happen and looked a bit mortified in anticipation. We take our oath to not use this information to hurt our Gryffindor sisters in any way. When we figure out who we smell, if we smell a person, we can write that down on the parchment, too."

Understanding dawned on Hermione. "So this is how you lot always knew who fancied whom and I didn't?"

Parvati winked. "Now you are getting it! Ready to play, girlies?" She clapped her hands and rubbed them together, and Hermione, with a wave of grief, amusement and dread all at once was reminded of Fred Weasley.

"One moment. It's obvious I missed out on, um, a lot. Fill me in." Hermione moved up to speed quickly and Parvati knew the question she was asking though the girls all looked bemused. Parvati gave a knowing smile, leaned back on her heels and settled her legs into a lotus position on the floor, her back straight and commanding. She closed her eyes, smiled softly, and began to recite, "Roger Davies smells like pine boughs. Seamus smells like lemons. George smells like toffee and gunpowder. Fred smells," her eyes squeezed harder and her breath caught, "...smelled...like gunpowder, no toffee. Blaise smells like bergamot and his leather satchel. Dean smells like patchouli and spearmint chewing gum. Lee Jordan smells like musk. Anthony smells like Earl Grey tea. Harry smells like broomstick polish and Castile soap. Neville smells like the greenhouse, but mostly rosemary. Oliver Wood..."

Maeve squealed, "Ugggggh! Uncle Oliver?" Parvati winked lasciviously and continued, "smells like quiddich - grass pitch and fresh air. And Ron..."

Ignoring the girls who began to nudge a mortified Maeve, Hermione cut in, flatly, "smells like woolens and cloves."

Parvati gave a sad smile.

"So Lavender said."

The two young women stared at each other, looking heartbroken. One of the girls coughed on a popcorn kernel, jerking them both back to the young faces staring at them. They needed to be here for them. They needed, as the Healer had told them, to believe in the healing magic of being with these girls. Hermione struggled, putting studied efforts once reserved for Arithmancy and Transfiguration, to form a believable playful face. Parvati, sensing her commitment to her and the girls, worked to meet her at least halfway with a smile of her own that was convincing to anyone who didn't study her stricken eyes. She addressed the group again.

"SO, girls, who is ready to recite our charm of Loyalty and Sisterhood? Wands over hearts - you too, Hermione - you had to have heard this at least once or twice..."

The girls a half-beat after Parvati and a quiet Hermione, chanted,

"We Gryffindor Sisters, living bravely and chivalrously, will love and care for our Sisters, will keep secrets deserving of our protection, and will honor the Sisters who came before us and the ones not yet Sorted."

Their wand tips glowed red to seal their charm, and the room went quiet.


	3. Alohomora

"Well, at least I know the charm," thought Hermione, petulantly.

Parvati summoned the parchment and gave it a brisk tap and murmured a quiet spell. Tacking it to the wall with a Quick Sticking Charm, she turned and rubbed her hands again.

"Okey doke! Who is first?"

"You should go, Parvati!" cheered a freckled, smiling girl who was on her knees and excitedly bouncing.

Parvati hammed it up for dramatic effect. "Well, here goes nothing!" She sniffed, and smiled slowly, ruefully. Hermione was the only one to notice Parvati quickly turned away to hide her overbright eyes. Her voice sounded tight.

"Lavender. I smell _Lavender_...I, um, smell fresh lavender...and a perfectly ripe mango, and," she gave Hermione a small secret smile with a wink and a finger to her lips, "lemons. That would be Seamus Finnegan, girls, and I reckon you should steer clear, because he is a _shameless_ flirt."

Missing the pain in her voice and the full truth in her revelation, the girls giggled with glee at the silly joke of flirting with someone so _old_, and delight in the ease with which Parvati shared her secrets. They snuggled closer to the cauldron, both eager and terrified to be next.

A fifth-year with waist-long blond hair leaned over the potion's swirling vapor. "I smell cedar chips - that must be my bunny, Spencer! my mum's ginger biscuits, and oh, ummm, gosh...peppermint. That is um, ahh, Dennis Creevey," she stuttered, blushing furiously, waving her wand at the parchment.

Hermione watched, fondly, with some longing for these moments of her girlhood that she seemed to miss out on. She wondered what she would smell when her turn came, and she found herself slightly wary. She was crying during the day only rarely, but the nightmares still came, leaving her sweaty and sick with exhaustion in the morning. Smells were powerful in her dreams. She could smell the bloody filth of Greyback, the endless damp wood and peat fires from months of flight on foot, and the perfume from her mother who had never quite resumed the same comforting, frequent pace of owls after Hermione restored her memories.

And Ron. Ron, from whom she had been inseparable in school, but with whom she had never been given a chance to love in he way that she had wanted to. And now that the door had opened for her, they were leaving it in different directions, and Ron was still fighting as an Auror Trainee, and she was so. Done. Fighting. And waiting. She came back to the present and noticed that Parvati was looking at her to take her turn.

She leaned over the cauldron with a tingle of fear and excitement. The small, open faces before her had no idea what this game was doing to her, did they?

Hermione planned a tentative, small sniff, but had forgotten the power of Amortentia, and found herself breathing in beautiful feelings with big, thirsty gulps.

"Parchment. Fresh parchment. And my mum's perfume, and...not...cloves. Cinnamon. Cinnamon and ummm...a man's cologne. Not strong. It's um, really nice," she said, lamely. The truth was, it wasn't _nice_, it was subtle in a way that snuck up on Hermione and made her shiver pleasantly.

"No cloves and wool, then?" Parvati questioned, with a light tone of surprise.

"No. Once, and for a very long time, I know I would have smelled Ron. Last year, I would have smelled Harry, too, because I love them both so much...but as brothers, friends." She paused, sensing she needed to release some of the building pressure in her chest, "But uh, frankly, after last year, living in a tent without a proper bath for most of a year, I suppose we all needed a _break_ from smelling each other."

Parvati, also craving some gallows humor, let out a huge snort which set both women off laughing to the point of shedding the tears that were already brimming in their eyes.

They moved away from the potion after recording what Parvati called, with another giggle, her "lab results," grabbed bowls of popcorn and sat on either end of a settee, knees up, toes almost touching. Maybe there was something to that oath, thought Hermione, as she felt a surge of sisterly affection for Parvati, who was still chuckling and wiping her eyes. Parvati pulled her attention away from the girls, who were muttering and giggling still and said to Hermione, "Cinnamon. Cologne, eh? What kind? Do you recognize it?"

Hermione closed her eyes to remember it again. She thought she'd keep the shiver of pleasure to herself for the moment and said,

"Clean. Spicy. Lemon verbena, sandalwood."

"Any ideas? 'Fess up!"

"I - I don't know. Honestly."

"Mmmm. I dunno either. That's a new one. Not at Hogwarts, I suppose. Unless you can say for sure that isn't what Filch smells like."

The girls cackled madly.

A loud voice cut over them. "Parvati! Maeve doesn't smell a _boy_!'

"That's okay to smell a girl, as a friend or as a crush," Parvati snipped, not at all in the mood to deal with homophobia on top of everything else.

"We KNOW, Parvati! Ugh! She smells cocoa, old books, and her gran's rose garden."

Parvati and Hermione shared sheepish grimaces. Parvati pulled a cheeky face at Hermione and shouted over, "Perfectly charming, Maeve. I knew I liked you. I bet those roses smell amazing. Sorry we can't all be as boy-crazy as Granger over here. Carry on, women!" She giggled and then snorted for a second time, which was once too many for the pair who completely lost themselves in fits of laughter, which left some of the younger women wondering if Professor McGonagall had really meant to leave them in the care of these two mad women.

It felt wonderful for Hermione to ache from laughing. After the girls had examined their parchment list, she was able to clean up and shoo them off to their beds and make it to her own, private room, satisfied for the first time in ages to snuggle into a bed and drift off to sleep. She only dreamed of happy smells.


	4. Relashio

Hermione entered the Great Hall for breakfast feeling better than she had in weeks. There was really something to having some time for play. And a decent night's sleep. She stopped Anthony Goldstein to ask him if he had the schedule for the upcoming lessons, as the professors had helpfully written down the objectives for the week's lessons for the returning group so they could themselves decide what they had missed. He waved her over to Draco Malfoy, who was sitting at the Slytherin table pouring over a large, map-sized piece of unfolded parchment.

Hermione grabbed a cup of tea and popped a piece of toast in her mouth while walking over to Draco. He was facing her, but so absorbed in what Hermione assumed was the schedule, that she carefully walked around behind him, thinking it would be less intrusive, and honestly less interactive, to read from a distance over his shoulder, than it would be to interrupt. As she stepped behind him, he muttered to the grumpy trio of sixth-years across from him, "You lost. Again. Chang and Davies are out for the season, and it definitely showed, didn't it? Blast it, you are pathetic, aren't you? I can't come up with anything else in the common room to have you scrub. Winky is already annoyed with me as it is. You are taking over her job."

As Hermione took in that she was looking at some sort of bracket and not a schedule at all, she heard the name _Winky_, and forgot herself, and forgot that Draco didn't know she'd snuck up behind them.

"_Winky?_"

Draco gave a start and instinctively touched his wand and turned, but quickly smoothed out his face into a blank look.

"I cannot imagine you don't know Winky. They love you down in the kitchens, Granger."

"Uh, yes. I do know Winky. I am rather surprised _you _do, as well."

"She scrubs the Slytherin common room at exactly 1:30 every morning. I've gotten to know her."

"And you are up at 1:30 in the morning?"

Draco looked at her for a long moment, giving Hermione enough time to remember that last night was the first real rest she had gotten in a while. Her cheeks pinked.

"Sometimes, yes."

"Oh."

Hermione was so flustered by outing Draco's insommnia that she nodded, grabbed another triangle of toast, and popped it in her mouth. She headed back to her bag at the Gryffindor table and only then realized that she hadn't asked Draco about the schedule. She finished skimming _The Daily Prophet_ and gulping down another cup of tea before it occurred to her that Draco hadn't thought to ask what she needed from the Slytherins.

At the Gryffindor table, she saw the schedule float by on its way from Parvati to Neville, and he let her snag it for a peek. They put their heads together and looked at it; she decided to stick with Potions today, while Neville headed to the greenhouses.

"How is your Potions work, Neville? Don't you want to take more classes now that you don't have Snape as a professor?" Harry had told them all about Severus Snape's sacrifices and allegiance to Dumbledore, but Hermione and Neville both shared a reluctance to let admiration for Snape's loyalty absolve his foul behavior toward them both.

"Well, I was here for a while after you had gone, remember. And Slughorn really did try to keep me safe, and some of that protection took the guise of extra tutoring. Turns out I'm a dab hand at Potions, when I don't have a bully for a professor." He winked, and Hermione beamed at him, and he continued, "Actually, I do owe the git quite a lot. His loathsome job at teaching me Potions made me realize I would like to be a teacher myself. Can I walk you out?"

Hermione forgot, sometimes, as the pair walked out of the Great Hall, how even though she had been bonded to her two best friends for months, she still had been incredibly lonely. She smiled as she looked up at Neville, whose uncomplicated companionship she had missed, and she grabbed for his hand and gave it a squeeze, and he smiled back at her fondly and squeezed her hand back.

"What is the plan for your day, Nev?"

"Well, like I said, off to the greenhouses first. I am doing some work on the Dirigible Plum tree today before it sheds its leaves. Then, I've an appointment with the Healer," he said, calmly.

"Oh, I didn't know you saw her."

"Haven't you? I saw the Carrows Crucio a first year last November. He couldn't walk afterwards, and I had to clean him up. He's not back this year." He sighed, and paused for a moment. "It definitely gave me some anger-fueled courage to keep fighting, but that is when the nightmares about my parents started." Hermione felt her silence like a heavy stone, but Neville's voice was even and honest. "So I started staying up late to dodge sleep or taking long runs to wear myself out too much to dream. But it wasn't always enough. She helps, if you ever feel the need."

Hermione wondered if Neville was trying to practice Legilimency or if she just radiated nerves.

"I feel so old, Neville. And the things I thought were silly, I mourn for them. If only Fred were here to give me a Skiving Snackbox, and I thought they were so childish and reckless...it's me...I was reckless..." Hermione was shocked to hear these words bubble from her mouth and didn't expect the fast tears that began swimming in her eyes.

Neville squeezed her hand again. "Her door has a sun on it if she is in. Clouds if she is out. The password is _rainbow. _If she is in there and talking to someone, put your wand on the locked doorknob, and she will owl you to make an appointment. Hey, have fun with Potions, okay? Go teach old Slug Club something." Neville gave her hand a final squeeze and loped off to leave the castle doors.


	5. Mimblewimble

Hermione picked her way down towards the dungeons to the Potions classroom. There were large swaths of stone wall that were freshly hewn and mortared, and Hermione wondered even with magic how and who repaired so much in such a short time. There were many parts of the castle that were still in disrepair; Hermione noticed on her way downstairs that many of the suits of armor stood taller because of their missing limbs and fresh dents, but it was evident that keeping a routine was paramount to the staff, and the utilitarian parts of the castle were at minimum in working order.

Dean and Seamus were already in the classroom, looking at the recipe on the large slate board and ignoring the dawdling seventh years who opted to wait for Slughorn. "Calming Draughts today," Dean read. "Well, I suppose Pomfrey has need of those." He walked over to the store cupboard and started gathering ingredients.

Seamus leaned over an already brewing cauldron on the side counter next to their tables. "Amortentia, huh." Parvati arrived in the classroom and joined them, just in time to see him begin leaning into the cauldron. Hermione saw her face pink slightly.

Parvati recovered and teased, "What do you know of Amortentia?"

"What?" said Seamus, pulling back for a moment, "We know you girls are usually drunk on this stuff, but it's not like we'd never brewed it ourselves." He leaned back in and inhaled deeply. "Well, now. _That_ is a new one." He grinned to himself. "Draco, you gonna?"

Hermione turned and saw Draco had walked up to the group.

"No."

"Scared?" Seamus wasn't sure how far he could tease Draco, but this seemed like a safe start.

"Probably should be, yes. No point in it. It's always the same." Draco nodded, matter-of-factly, and went to join Dean to gather ingredients.

"And I am not sharing with the class!" he called over his shoulder to the question forming on Parvati's lips.

Hermione put her bag down and turned to walk over to the cupboard, but she paused, and sheepishly turned back to the potion, cocking her chin and leveling a gaze at it, like it was a schoolyard bully who just dared her to jump off the swings. Her finger tapped on the table, and then she made up her mind, and first with a quick glance over to her friends, took a deep gulp of the spiraling vapors. Nothing had changed, if anything, it was not stronger but clearer, the notes almost bouncing off the walls, and the shivers full of addictive potential. She looked up slightly dazed, and caught the eyes of Draco, who was watching her as he portioned honeysuckle leaves into even piles, a smirk playing around his lips. The euphoria still buzzing in her head stilled any defensive embarrassment she otherwise would have had, and she smiled and rolled her eyes at him, and turned away in time to hear Slughorn's booming welcome to the class.

After some administrative business and general directions, Slughorn left his students to their potions, and wandered over to the eighth years, standing slightly away from Draco, whom he nervously chose to pretend wasn't there. Hermione noticed Draco's mouth formed a thin line, but the hand on his silver dagger was relaxed and deftly cutting a roll of leaves into an even chiffonade. He looked up when he felt her eyes on him, and Hermione suddenly needed to pretend she didn't feel sorry for him, or notice Slughorn's reaction.

"How do you get your knife that sharp?" Spell?

Slughorn's eyebrows raised, and he shuffled away to answer a question from a seventh-year boy.

"Whetstone. Patience." Draco, answered. His answer was brief, but had no edge to it, and Hermione noticed his shoulders must have been hunched before, because he relaxed them.

"I could do yours." Draco offered, without looking up from his work.

"Thanks. I'd appreciate that. I won't need it again until Friday, I don't think."

Draco nodded twice, and Hermione began catching up with them on their work. She didn't notice Parvati and Dean practically gaping at this brief, civil interaction. Seamus, oblivious to all of this, asked quietly to no one in particular, "What is Slug Club brewing that Amortentia for, anyway?"

"Dean put his knife on his cutting board and looked over at the cauldron. He's doing some research with Healer Carna. They are working on a project with St. Mungo's. Some Healers think that they may be able to use Amortentia in minute quantities to counter some of the damage of the Cruciatus. They have to be very careful though; either one could kill you."

"Do they think they can cure the Longbottoms?" Hermione wondered.

Dean sighed. "Nah." His face looked wooden. "No, the Lestranges as good as killed them." His hand grabbed his knife very tightly, and he caught himself and rearranged his face into a handsome smile. "There is hope it may help a lot of people, though."

The five of them settled back into a silence that was neither comfortable nor awkward, and steadily completed their task. Hermione turned in her corked phials and was about to leave when Draco stood in front of the aisle, his palm out to her.

She cocked an eyebrow, and he cocked one back.

"Your knife?"

"Oh! I completely forgot! Sorry," she blushed. She fumbled through her bag, and he caught sight of the leather case and plucking it from her bag, walked out.

Hermione rushed from the room as well. The smells from her Amortentia were everywhere.


	6. Glisseo

Hermione slept fitfully. Her mind was still rolling over the Amortentia, and the puzzling interaction with Malfoy in Potions class, which would have been nothing had it been anyone else, but it was Draco Malfoy, who was once the boy who teased her relentlessly, the boy who was a Death Eater, the boy who watched her scream for mercy in his drawing room. But here he was, offering to do a mundane chore for her, for no apparent personal gain. It rattled her in ways being called a Mudblood couldn't.

And then, right before she was planning to soothe herself with a pair of freshly laundered, warm flannel pyjamas, a cup of herbal tea, and a new book, Anna McQuarrie, a fourth year, came stumbling down out of her dormitory into the common room, gasping for breath. When she falls asleep, she had said, sometimes she can see her sister being taken away on Christmas Day for questioning by the Ministry. Her sister had never come home. The Ministry has no record of her, and said that she may have vanished...or escaped. There were some witches and wizards still hiding in fear, not believing the war was over. Not everyone had yet been found. Hermione sent owls off to Ron and Harry asking them to look for Rachel McQuarrie, aged 22, red-haired and blue-eyed and Muggleborn, last seen in Azkaban. She ended up sitting with Anna in silence, both of them hugging their knees, staring at the fire until it had dwindled to glowing coals.

Hermione decided today was the day to see the Healer. She couldn't heal herself and everyone else, too.

She wasn't very hungry, but she knew she needed to eat something, so she forced herself down to the Great Hall for some toast and strong tea. Dean had caught her eye as she walked in and waved her over with a smile, as if he knew she needed encouragement just to eat breakfast. She was immediately joined by Susan, Parvati, and Hannah, whom Hermione noticed was looking oddly radiant in a familiar, slouchy cotton jumper of Neville's. Hermione smiled a greeting to Dean, who was finally starting to look less than starved after his months on the run from the Snatchers. Dean looked up and waved Draco over to their table, scooting down on the bench to free up a space across from Hermione. Draco had been walking toward the Slytherins, but cocked his head up in greeting to Dean and slid into the space, looking at Dean with an eyebrow raised in question. Dean leaned over to him and asked, quietly, "Hey, mate, did you get him sorted? He was in a right state."

"Mmm hmm," said Draco, absently, quickly tossing a quill and parchment out of his bag and pouring himself a cup of coffee from a large, silver carafe in front of him. He sighed, and put his coffee cup, which suddenly appeared to be too heavy for him, down. "He was cornered by...Crabbe...in the lavatory on the third floor last year. I just gave him the password to the prefects' bathroom to use instead. Sorted." Dean's eyebrows shot up, but he nodded and assessed Draco with a thoughtful look. Hermione, still so tired and dazed from yesterday, didn't realize that she had been holding her tea halfway to her lips and staring at Draco for longer than was polite. Draco's eyes flicked over to hers and for the briefest second looked unsettled, but he caught himself and quickly smoothed his face.

"Granger," he nodded.

"Oh, hullo, Draco," she murmured, and then they both started. Draco buried his face in _The Daily Prophet_ and began to alternate gulps of coffee with scratching on his parchment. Hermione forced herself to sip from her tea, and mulled over another baffling interaction with Draco Malfoy. Pulling her mind away from the Manor, she realized that no harm had come to her to greet him politely over breakfast. On the contrary, her fatigue had steered her towards what felt easiest. He was no friend, she mused, as she carefully buttered a thick slab of toast, but his testimony in front of the full Wizengamot was fueled by Veritiserum, and everyone who witnessed it or read the transcripts in the _Prophet_ knew that he was driven by fear for his mother, fear of his father, and that he had somehow managed to hide in Voldemort's good graces while quickly losing any taste he might have thought he'd had for violence. Hermione wasn't sure if she could befriend Draco Malfoy, but she could at least eat toast in front of him.

She was pulled out of her silent musings by the scraping of benches on the stone floor and the cheerful voices of her housemates who were off for the morning. Smiling a goodbye to them, she realized that she was now alone with Draco, who seemingly realized the same thing at once and was quickly packing up his quill and parchment while taking a last pull from his coffee cup. He stood, put her knife box in front of her bread plate, and walked away.


	7. Periculum

Hermione made her way to Healer Carna's office, which was housed in an unused classroom adjacent the hospital wing. She mulled over why they didn't offer her an office like the professors, and supposed it was because of continued repairs. She considered the door, whose sun icon noted that Carna was in. Murmuring the password, Hermione saw the door swing open, revealing a large space lit by the weakening autumn sun peeking through a large bank of windows on the opposite wall. In the far corner of the room, four squashy couches spotted with mismatched, sagging cushions made a neat square. There was a desk in another corner, with a long row of tidy bookshelves on the wall near the door. The narrow wall to her left contained a large stone fireplace flanked by two leather wingback chairs. Carna was in the center of the room, kneeling on a small rug, her feet tucked under her, chest to her knees and forehead on the floor. Her arms were tucked to her sides, and the overall impression was one of an infant asleep in a cot. She was so still for so long that Hermione hesitated, wondering if she was indeed asleep.

"Hello, Miss Granger. I am glad you are here. Please do take a rug from the basket just there and join me, if you'd like."

Hermione started and looked down at the wide wicker basket next to the door and selected a small, rolled rug. She walked over to Carna and unfurled it at what she hoped was a respectable distance. As she did so, the healer exhaled and slowly lifted herself up to a comfortable sitting position. She held out her hand.

"Carna."

"Hermione."

"Hello, Hermione," Carna smiled warmly. "Would you like to talk for a bit today?"

"I think so, yes."

Carna nodded. "I'm going to breathe in through my nose and out slowly through my mouth, like this," Carna demonstrated for a few breaths. "If you would like to join me, do. I find it calming. Then when you are ready to speak, do."

They sat and breathed together, and Hermione was surprised to find it was very calming. They spent a few minutes like this until Hermione knew what she wanted to say.

"I want my nightmares to stop."

"How often do you have them?"

"Three, four times a week. Not enough time in between to catch up on sleep."

Carna nodded, thoughtfully.

"We can work on talking about the things that have happened to you, so you don't have to keep visiting them in your sleep. I'd like to start by having you write them down. Can you do that? Keep a book and a quill by your bed, and when you wake, write down everything you remember? Then we can practice lucid dreaming and work on rewriting the scripts."

Hermione nodded. They breathed for a while more. She noticed that her shoulders were relaxing. It felt good to have a plan.

"Tell me what it feels like when you are awake."

"I'm tired. And I feel sad. I didn't know I would be so sad."

"You are surprised that you feel sad."

"Yes. We won the war. And I lost so many friends, but so did everyone else."

"You don't measure your sadness by other people's losses, Hermione."

"I suppose not. Maybe I was this sad all along, and I was too scared of Voldemort to notice."

"Do you know what things may be making you feel sad?"

"Well, not sleeping. Losing Fred, Tonks, Remus, Lavender, Colin, so many people. Not having Harry here. Not having Ron here. Feeling left behind. Not knowing what to do next. Knowing my parents are a little afraid of me. Missing out on the end of my childhood. I'm sad that Ron and I couldn't be happy together, because it would have made Harry and his family so happy. I miss the Weasleys."

"You said that you are surprised that you feel sad. Now that you say all those things out loud, are you still surprised?"

"No, I suppose that is quite a lot to be sad about." Hermione coughed a small, rueful laugh.

"Yes, it is. You talk about Ron. Was he your boyfriend?"

"No. I wanted him to be, once. And he wanted me, too. But no, not anymore. We were almosts for too long, I think. And when we got back home, I forgave him for leaving me - he left us when we were on the run, searching for Horcruxes. One got too close to his heart, and he left. I thought it would be enough to forgive him when he came back to us, but when he didn't come back to Hogwarts, when he decided to keep fighting with Harry as an Auror, I just couldn't say goodbye anymore. I love him, but I can't be in love with someone who keeps leaving me. I'm used to being lonely, but I am not used to being alone."

"And now you feel alone?"

"Yes. It's better than it was. I am happy to be here. I feel like I am getting to know my friends again. Like Parvati. And Neville. And Dean. I need to have a plan, though. I feel a bit lost."

"A plan for what?"

"What comes next."

Carna and Hermione talked about the dream journal, and how she could take her love of study tables and make a plan for her year at Hogwarts. Hermione brightened at the realization that she needed to organize her day even without the pressure of exams. She promised to pencil in yoga and exercise, and talks with Carna, and decided that every day she needed to plan something fun for herself, and something with her friends. She decided to make plans to visit Harry and Ron at the Ministry to see its restructured departments, and meet with Kingsley to discuss career options. The obviousness of these plans made Hermione realize, grimly, how lost she had really been, and how thankful she was that she had come. The rush of confidence was energizing, and she had mentally ticked many boxes off her worry list. There was one more, lingering at the bottom.

"Draco Malfoy sharpened my Potions knife for me."

"Tell me why that surprises you."

"He was relentless in his bullying of me. He called me Mudblood. He would have been happy to see me dead, I think."

Carna looked at her thoughtfully.

Hermione reconsidered, "Well, he could have seen me killed if he had not stalled his fellow Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor. He saw me Crucio'd instead."

"Did he look happy?"

"No. He looked sick."

Carna nodded. And now he is civil?

"It is making me curious," Hermione nodded. "And afraid. Should I be afraid?"

Carna considered Hermione for several long moments, but Hermione did not find it at all unnerving.

"Should you be afraid? I think that is the second question. The first one you should ask yourself is, what should you be afraid of?"

Hermione turned and stared into the warmth of the crackling fire.

"I don't know."

Carna nodded, and Hermione sensed at once that this was more than enough for them both to think about in one day. She left the office feeling warmed and peaceful. She was eager to organize her planner, and she had decided that she would grab Parvati, Hannah, and Susan at dinner and see if they wanted to go to the shops this weekend. Months of Scourgify and Reparo charms had worn out most of her casual clothes. Professor McGonagall felt it was time to let of-age students have a Hogsmeade weekend, and Hermione thought she could talk herself into being more excited about this one than the new third-years were about theirs.

After organizing her planner, making a shopping list, and doing some basic relaxation stretches Carna had written down for her, Hermione caught an Arithmancy class that had absorbed her afternoon with calculations. She made her way down to dinner, and saw Susan, Parvati, and Hannah sitting together.

"I need to go shopping. Would you come with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

Hannah smiled, "Neville and I are going to spend the day together. I'd love to go another time, though." The girls grinned at Hannah; it was impossible not to be happy for her.

"I'm in. Can I also suggest a haircut and a blow out? I think months in the woods did not help that already troubled mane of yours," Parvati smirked.

Susan looked at Parvati, appalled. Hermione put a hand on her wrist.

"It's okay, Susan. This is the sweet Patil I remember. I'm so glad to have her back." Hermione smiled a genuine smile of mirth and rolled her eyes.

"I'm in," Susan nodded. "It will feel good to buy some outfits. My mum would only go out to buy the necessities last year, and the Ministry were limiting purchases on so many things. I only brought a few clothes with me. I could use a dress, I suppose."

Seamus sat down and smiled his greeting to the girls. Hermione noticed that Parvati blushed, and she was fairly certain Seamus caught it as well.

"What are we needing dresses for? I left mine in my trunk at home," Seamus pulled a sad face.

"We _girls_ are going shopping on Saturday, Finnegan. If you are lucky, _maybe_ you can meet us for drinks after." Parvati winked.

Seamus smiled at her slowly, and grinned when he saw Parvati pink again. "I reckon we can. Dean needed to go down to buy some art supplies. Anthony wanted a new Transfiguration textbook. They'll already be there. Draco and I were heading to Quality Quidditch, the one in Hogsmeade. Need a new broom. That bint Carrow used mine to start a fire. Draco's giving me some advice on a model."

"You and Draco are spending the day shopping together?" Hermione wondered.

Seamus shrugged. "He offered. Knows the best brooms, he does. Told me he'd keep me from throwing my money away. Anyway...it's a date, Parvati." Hermione noticed this time, both Parvati and Seamus were blushing a little.

Susan and Hannah spent the rest of dinner chatting about her date with Neville. Hermione supposed that she eventually would catch up on what she missed during her months away, though some of it, like watching Seamus' beloved broom being used for kindling by Alecto Carrow, she could do without ever having seen. Excited by her weekend plans, Hermione finished dinner and headed upstairs for an early night. She laid a new blank book and a pencil next to her bed, hoping that she would have no need of them.


	8. Ferula

Professor McGonagall's scream was hanging in the air, and Hermione's heart and stomach clenched so tightly, she was left gasping. Harry, her beloved Harry, _Harry_ was limp, his glasses askew, his wand arm pinned awkwardly under his crooked torso. She heard her own voice screaming until a spell from Voldemort squeezed it out of her. . . .Percy's hands were shaking, his whole body was trembling, and he was chanting "Nonononononono" as he peeled rocks off of Fred, Fred who looked like a parody of a Halloween ghost with his face and lips and eyes coated in mortar dust, still smiling. . . .

Hermione lurched awake with a gasp. She wiped a shaky hand over her sweaty forehead and looked at the clock. _11:15._ This one came early, she thought, sadly. It was going to be a long night. She went to go to wash her face in the small bath joining her room to Parvati's when she remembered her journal. Hermione paused to let her hands stop shaking, and then dutifully wrote down what she could remember from her nightmares. This woke her thoroughly, and she decided if she was up this early, perhaps she could, as she was thinking about Fred and missing him with a dull ache in her chest, nip down to the kitchens to chat with the house elves and have a biscuit and some herbal tea. She didn't feel up to being alone. She washed her face, ran her fingers through her curls, and changed into some blue jeans and an old gray King's College tee of her mum's she had taken from her dresser before she'd wiped her mum's memory clean of her. She slipped on some loafers and padded down to the kitchens.

She opened the door to the gleaming, white tiled room and squinted from the brightness. No meals were being prepared, but there were a handful of house elves scrubbing down the cookers and setting large kettles of fresh water on them for the morning. They nodded to her, pointed to a massive kitchen island in the middle, and turned back to their work. The island was wood, worn away at the edges and smoothed from what must be centuries of buffing and use. It had a bench that went around it on all sides that appeared to be the proper height for a house elf to stand and work above the fray. It also happened to be just the height for Hermione to sit at comfortably. As she took a seat, a tray of ginger biscuits and a pot of tea were set in front of her. She looked to thank the elf who set them down, but he waved her off with a polite nod, and kept to his work. There were two cups on the tray, and as she turned to ask the elf why, the door swung open, and Draco Malfoy walked in. Hermione's eyes trailed over him; he was wearing brown brogues, a pair of fawn corduroy trousers and a white dress shirt rolled to his elbows. His silvery hair was no longer slicked back, and it fell into his eyes slightly as he looked up and stopped as if at the end of a tether. Quickly setting his shoulders and giving her a small nod, he walked over to the tea, and sat down not directly opposite her, pouring himself a cup.

"Granger."

Hermione, blaming the late hour and her vulnerable mood, decided something.

"Hermione, please."

Draco nodded. "Hermione."

"Thank you for sharpening my knife. I haven't had the chance to try it out, but it looks beautifully sharp."

Draco looked at her, carefully. "It was my pleasure."

He unfolded a piece of parchment and set it out on the table, bowing his head to examine it.

Hermione was so lonely that the silence was eating at her.

"I thought that parchment was the schedule for the professors the other day. That's why I came over to your table. It's a bracket. For Quidditch?"

"Yes. I am running a fantasy Quidditch league for the Slytherins. Something to do. Caught a couple of them mouthing off about the Cannons. Asked if they wanted to make it interesting."

Hermione felt a bit of the Prefect creeping over her. "You are running a betting pool. For children. Is that why those boys had to clean your common room? Because they lost to you?"

He stared at her, eyebrows raised. "No, they had to clean the common room because they don't know a good Chaser if one bit them on the arse."

Hermione raised her eyebrows and Draco sighed.

"Look," he paused, "Hermione. Some of these kids, to my surprise, weren't pureblood and safe during the war. There were a few little Slytherins whose parents scrambled to keep their lineage under wraps, for fear of them being put on a registry or disappearing with a Snatcher. Some of them stayed at home last year, or lived in as much fear as anyone in any other house. Maybe more, I can't pretend to know. I can't get some of these kids to go outside and fly a broom now, for Merlin's sake; they spent more than a year hiding in this castle or elsewhere. I had to do something to keep them from climbing the walls," he shrugged, sighed, and looked back at his bracket.

"Does it keep you from climbing the walls, too?"

Draco smiled, ruefully. "Not even close."

Hermione looked at her hand - she couldn't bring herself to look up yet - for a moment and considered this. She had a burst of curiosity that inspired a dozen questions, but a small voice in her head suggested that she ration them out carefully. This was the longest conversation she'd ever had with Draco Malfoy, and she hadn't yet decided if she wanted more of them.

A creak of the door saved her from her indecision. A bleary-eyed Susan Bones leaned into the door. Sky blue pajamas peeked out from a matching fluffy cotton bathrobe. She was followed by Neville Longbottom, who was dressed in boots, gray flannel trousers, and a red wool sweater. He looked fresh from the greenhouses.

"Oh, hiya, Hermione," she squinted, her voice raspy and soft with sleep. "Hullo, Draco. Been awhile, thas' good, I 'spose, yeah?" She yawed, and shuffled over to them to take one of the two cups that appeared on the tray before them. She settled down next to Hermione, who put a tentative hand on Susan's back and rubbed it, gently.

"Was it the one with your aunt again?" Draco asked, quietly.

"Yes. I was getting good at rewriting the ending to tell her I loved her, and I would see her again. But her birthday is coming up, and Mum keeps sending me sad owls." Susan sighed, with a shuddery breath and leaned into Hermione with a sleepy, sad smile.

Neville had been watching Hermione through this whole exchange.

"Is this the first time you've ever been in the kitchens?" he asked her.

"Yes, and if I'd known you were throwing parties down here, I would have come sooner."

Neville smiled fondly at her and chuckled. "You really are a lot like Harry, you know that?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione puzzled.

He leaned into her and scooped up the hand she had been examining when they walked in. "We have been here this whole time. You don't have to fight everything by yourself anymore."


	9. Silencio

Hermione gave Neville a smile, and then flipped her face to a dry look. "Harry, was far, far worse. But yes, I am glad you are here. I am glad I decided to be here," she smiled and squeezed his hand.

The four of them sat quietly, sipping their tea together. Hermione picked a stray rosemary needle off Neville's jumper and, looking over at the house elves who were sweeping the floors, laid it carefully in her saucer. For some minutes, the only noises in the kitchens were the scraping of brooms and the clinking of china.

Hermione was used to long silences after months with only Harry and Ron for conversation. Those silences were usually time she was in her head planning or worrying, or avoiding a Hourcrux-induced squabble, or listening for outside noises, hoping to hear the eerie calls of wild animals over the sounds of menacing footsteps crunching leaves. Now she had to relearn appreciating a comfortable silence, and months of anxiety added to this new sense of urgency to make up for time lost, and pushed her to fill the quiet. She smiled at Susan, who looked almost ready for another attempt at sleep. She turned back to Neville.

"Hannah." She smiled teasingly at him.

"Yes," Neville said, cocking his chin up and smiling softly down at her. "For a while now. Starting our seventh year. We shoved a second year in a broom cupboard to avoid some ugliness and climbed in after him to calm him down. While we sat there, she started talking about her mum and how much she missed her, and Hannah was so beautiful, in the cupboard, her arms around that little Hufflepuff kid, talking to me. I love her." Neville grinned.

"I can tell, Nev, Hermione beamed. "I am so happy."

Draco stood abruptly, hurriedly folding his parchment and setting his cup back on the tray. He nodded to them, looking down at the floor.

"Good night."

Hermione started.

"Oh," yawned Susan. "Draco," she called to his back almost at the door, "I'll head out too. 'Night all."

Draco stood stiffly but waited for Susan to set her cup down and wave her goodbyes. He pulled open the door for her and guided her out gently with a hand on her back.

Hermione turned back to Neville and pointed at the door with her eyes.

"You are wondering about Draco, yes?" Neville asked.

"Well, yes I've wondered. It is weird to see you two sitting together in the Hogwarts kitchens taking tea." Hermione muttered.

"It will never not be weird, Hermione," he snorted. "Parvati'll probably know more than I do, but I suppose she would have mentioned it to you already if she did. Maybe Seamus. I was never much one for gossip, especially since most of it here was lies about my friends. I know he came here with Carna. I know after the trial he was sent to her at St. Mungo's, and when she came here, so did he. I don't know if he is here because he wants to be, or because he has to be. I know that the day he unpacked his trunk, he found me and apologized for every wretched thing he'd done or said, and a few things I had forgotten or not realized were his doing. It was awkward, but I let him do it, because he looked broken." Neville broke his eyes away from Hermione and considered the house elf teetering on a stepstool, polishing a copper pot behind her. "He's still Draco like I am still me, I guess, "Neville continued. "But we are trying to grow up and everything is different now, so I dunno, I guess we are different now. I give him space, and my respect, and he hasn't asked for either of them. I think he is trying."

"Trying what?"

"To move on. To live. To let go. What any of us is, I suppose."

Hermione looked down at the tray and nodded slowly. She wondered why Draco didn't apologize to her, and then she wondered why she cared at all. Neville sat up a bit straighter and took a breath.

"You need some sleep, Hermione. So do I. Let's go."

Hermione nodded and let Neville guide her out of the kitchens, leaving the house elves to erase any evidence of their wounded sleep.


	10. Aparecium

Hermione woke refreshed after the fourth dreamless night in a row. She felt giddy, and it added to her excitement of spending a full day with girlfriends in Hogsmeade. She took pleasure in these little, unusual moments of normalcy.

She had taken the truth behind Parvati's teasing barbs to mind and had booked herself a hair appointment for the afternoon. Wrapping her hair into a large bun on the top of her head, she threw on a button-down plaid flannel shirt and a pair of soft navy corduroys and some trainers. She dug out a small leather clutch from her trunk, and filled it with a pocket mirror, her coin purse, a lipstick, and the magical bag which held all their possessions last year. As an afterthought, she added a tiny perfume atomizer from her dresser.

She was last to make it down to the Gryffindor breakfast table. Dean was almost done with the last bits of an impressively large breakfast, judging by the incredulous look Parvati was giving his plate. Parvati and Susan were both finished and nursing cups of coffee. Seamus, Hermione noted with some interest, was sitting comfortably close on Parvati's right, his plate already empty. Hermione grabbed an unclaimed teapot and slid next to Dean. As she greeted everyone, Draco approached Seamus.

Parvati looked up to acknowledge him, but she was interrupted when her eyes caught Hermione. "Please tell me you made a hair appointment today. And that shirt! Explain yourself!"

Hermione grinned. "Yes. And wearing this is going to force me to come home with decent clothes. The shirt is an old one of Harry's he outgrew in fourth year."

Parvati pinched the bridge of her nose as if to stall a headache as Susan chuckled into her coffee. The boys seemed largely oblivious to the exchange save Draco, who set his jaw and cut in, "We should head out. They advertised a new Nimbus in this morning's _Prophet_. You don't want some jumpy third-years with no Knuts to their names in your way."

Parvati raised her eyebrows and leaned into Seamus. "Your nanny is waiting, Popkin."

Anthony, who'd just a moment before scooted over from the Ravenclaw table to say hello, had unfortunately just taken a large gulp of coffee, and began to choke on it.

Hermione reached over to thump him on the back. Seamus grinned at Parvati and stood. Moving behind her, he leaned down over her slowly, placing his palms flat on the table to either side of Parvati, who had suddenly frozen in place. He chuckled in her ear huskily. "Six at The Three Broomsticks, then?"

He winked at Hermione who was busy enjoying the furious blush blooming on Parvati's cheeks. Trying to swallow a laugh, Hermione drawled, "Bye, Seamus," in a withering voice. She grabbed some toast and gestured for the girls to follow her out as well.

Hermione had seen Hogsmeade before term began, but she still felt little sad jolts of recognition at the scars of war. It was as ravaged as the shops in Diagon Alley - Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor was still shuttered, but it looked like someone was inside doing some work to the shop. She hoped for the students' sakes it would open again when the weather was warm. However, some of the London shops were starting to branch out tiny Hogsmeade locations for those who did not feel safe traveling far. War brought many changes, Hermione supposed.

The students were the only reason George found the strength to open both branches of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. He knew Fred wouldn't forgive him if he didn't. Lee and Angelina had not left his side since, using the shop opening as a reason to get him to stumble numbly through the routines of a day. Ron had written her about it, and she made a point to spend a week before term at the shop when her parents' cool reception to her restoration of their memories left her at loose ends herself. She was sure Ron would be there today, and though her heart ached to see him, and George, it would be too much on their first day open to the public. Ron must have felt the same, for he made plans to see her and Harry in Hogsmeade soon, but not today. It was in the back storeroom, caged in on all sides by piles of half-sorted merchandise, that Ron had said to her, "Harry's going to be an Auror. He's going to find them all," and she said, already knowing what would come next, "Please not you, Ron." He had kissed her, on the hair this time, and said, "Yes, me. I have to."

The garish storefront of the joke shop came into view with students already queuing up at the entrance. Hermione stepped away from her friends to grab a Gryffindor boy sailing past them. She pressed some coins into his hand. "Bring me back the Marauder Size box of fireworks. Tell any redhead behind the counter that Hermione sends her love. If you do, you can keep the change." Looking at the coins and doing some quick mental math, the boy grinned and sprinted after his friends.

"Fireworks?" asked Susan, who along with Parvati had let Hermione alone with her thoughts on the way down to the high street.

Hermione shrugged, and Susan turned back to Parvati, who was appreciating some dress robes in a shop window.

"Well, it looks like Madam Malkin's in Hogsmeade still has dress robes, anyway; I'll want to stop in there. But the styles really have changed in a year. Who says fashion doesn't matter?" Parvati murmured.

"What do you mean?" wondered Hermione.

"Well, look," Parvati pointed to Twilfitt and Tattings' window. That whole outfit is Muggle. That there, that isn't even a traveling cloak. It's an overcoat. That shop over there has tuxedos and business suits," Parvati waved.

"Why?" Susan asked. "Why now? When so many people were trying to prove they came from generations of wizards? When they were killing muggles?"

It came together for Hermione. "We had to hide our wizarding clothes when we first ran from the Burrow. We needed to hide in London. Now I suppose people are liking these things. Muggles do a lot right."

"Oh." Susan whispered, sadly.

"Well, that is cute. Ooooh, let's go here, first." Parvati pulled them both in a shop where the three girls were each set upon by aggressive tape measures and one black-clad witch who kept clicking her tongue at Hermione. "_See_?" Parvati hissed.

They left that shop with bags in hand and went straight into another to buy shoes. Three hours and five stores later, the girls had folded their shopping and their old clothes neatly into Hermione's small leather clutch.

"I completely forgive you for being so shallow, Parvati. I feel loads better," said Hermione, as she twirled in front of a mirror which let out a low wolf whistle. She'd picked out a soft, fitted navy leather jacket, an indigo cashmere top, and a navy circle skirt that was the shortest garment she'd ever worn outside of her primary school ballet class. She pivoted again, admiring her stockings and her new wedge ankle boots.

"Hot," appreciated Parvati. "I'll forgive you when your hair is fixed." C'mere, Susan. Susan stood by Parvati in a short, gray, wrap pencil skirt, a black and white striped boat neck top, and black boots that went just past her knee. She smirked and held out her hands for Parvati, making a show of asking if she passed inspection. "Gorgeous. As usual. Such legs! What do we think of this?"

Parvati spun in a pale pink slip dress, matching cardigan, and a pair of cowboy boots. Susan raised her eyebrows, "Without the jumper, it's scandalous."

"Oh, good," breathed Parvati, as she shrugged off the cardigan and draped it over her arm. Be off with you, Granger!"

Susan smiled at Hermione. "I want to go and browse at Flourish and Blotts for a while. If you don't catch up with us there, see you at six, okay?" Susan waved her off.

_Parvati would love this place_, Hermione thought, as she settled herself in Gauthier's chair and breathed in the heavy perfume of the salon. A year of growth and hasty, sporadic scrubbing was quickly transformed into a soft fringe and loose curls to the middle of her back. She'd even splurged to have her makeup done. Hermione felt better than she had after her first soak after the war, when she drained and filled the tub three times to scrub the death off of her. _Some things can feel better than _**done**_, than _**over**, she supposed. She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the smell of Greyback and blood, and looking to see that Gauthier had stepped back to the till, she grabbed the perfume from her bag and gave herself a quick spritz, breathing deeply to erase Greyback, dead Greyback, and compose herself.

Hermione settled her bill and wandered slowly back to Flourish and Blotts. She grinned to herself, as she admired a necklace in a jeweler's window, and mused that she had never dawdled on the way to a bookstore, and promised herself that next Hogsmeade weekend, she would have to spend a few hours browsing bookshelves. She halted in front of a bright, steamy window full of gorgeous snapdragons, lilies, and roses. Charmed butterflies were flitting amongst the blooms, and Hermione was happily transfixed by them, until she caught a silver shock of hair walk past a display of potted mums. For lack of a better plan, she told herself she wanted to get a better look at the snapdragons, and she gingerly slid into the shop. Ignoring the snapdragons and winding her way around tin buckets of daisies and some garish yellow roses that were singing "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love," Hermione managed to catch Draco's eyes. They slid slowly over her, appreciatively, and he smiled an easy, flirty smile until his eyes met hers and shock slid over his face.

"H- Granger."

"Hermione, Draco." She was still reeling from that look - _Where did that come from? _\- but the use of her surname hadn't escaped her.

"Yes. Hermione. I see you have...been shopping?"

She chose to hide her flustered feelings together with his. "Yes. It's been lovely. I'd better not get used to it, until I am no longer unemployed, anyway. Who's the lucky girl?" She gestured around the shop.

"There is no lucky girl."

"Boy, then?"

Draco gave her a withering look.

"Oh, Merlin. I've really put my foot in my mouth. Someone's died?"

"No. No one's died. They are for Madame Rosemerta." Seeing Hermione's bemused expression, Draco looked tired. "I suppose I can explain. Later. First, since you are here," he changed the subject smoothly, "tell me what you would pick. I need some inspiration."

"Well, let's see." Hermione didn't think for a second he was doing anything but stalling her from asking more questions, but she had been shopping all day, and she was beginning to take the work rather seriously. Draco played along with her well, thoughtfully following her around the rows of tin flower tubs. "All one color. Cream. Sweet peas. Those peonies, there. And um...Iceburg roses. A bit summery, but magic will let us do that, I guess." She shrugged, smiled, and wandered over to look at the snapdragons.

Draco stared after her for a moment, and then caught himself and walked to the counter. After a few minutes he came up behind Hermione and she turned to see a large cream bouquet in a cut glass vase wrapped with silver paper. There was a small envelope attached. Draco gestured to the door and reached over to open it.

Out on the street, he stopped. "Wait, could you hold these, please?" Draco handed them to her, and she couldn't resist burying her face in them, surprised and disappointed that the magic that held summer blooms out of season had not kept their scent intact. She almost dropped them when he pulled out his wand, commanded "Expecto Patronum!" and shot a large, silver falcon from his wand. "Thank you. I can take those now," Draco pretended to ignore her gaping at him. He stopped near a bench and gestured to her to sit, setting the blooms gently on the ground in front of her. He sat down on the other side as Hermione smoothed her skirt and considered the blooms. This silence wasn't hers to break with even a glance up at him. She could feel his eyes on her, but she let him stare, unsure of what it meant. Finally, he spoke. "Seamus went back up to the castle to drop off his broom kit. And to primp, probably." Hermione nodded but didn't look up. He took a steeling breath, and began, "If it had been left up to me, I would have apologized to Rosemerta and never set foot in the pub again. I threw up after I put her under the Imperius, but that was just a taste of how it would feel to watch her cry at the sight of me." Draco looked like he wanted to stop, but he forced himself to continue. "Carna walked me down here, probably to keep me from being hexed five different ways, though I wouldn't have stopped her. Told Rosemerta she didn't ever have to do anything she didn't want to for me, ever again. Carna told her she wanted to rehabilitate me, to make me feel every wretched thing I'd done and cry for every person I'd hurt. But to get better. The world was a foul enough place without adding more evil to it. She said she wanted me back at school, where maybe if I shook off the enormous chip from my shoulder, I'd make some friends. Maybe. Told Rosemerta that would be hard to do if I couldn't go out with them, but it was up to Rosemerta, because I probably deserved worse than I got."

"That doesn't sound like Carna. And talking like you weren't there."

"Knew her audience."

"Oh."

Draco smiled sadly. "The same reason Rosemerta was easy for an underage wizard to curse is the same reason she forgave me. But she told me to send her a warning Patronus and bring her flowers every time I come. Actually, she told me I could stop with the flowers, but I told her I'd rather not."

"Why the Patronus?"

"I still frighten her. She needs warning. Also, I suppose it is hard to conjure a Patronus when you are getting ready to curse someone."

Hermione nodded.

Draco considered her again, "I tell you an awful lot. I'd thank you for listening, but I am not sure how thankful I should be." He shrugged to himself. Hermione looked up slightly to consider him. He was staring ahead, thoughtfully. "Nice selection of flowers. They smell beautiful."

Hermione responded before she thought better of herself, "I think the magic took their scent away. They don't smell like anything at all."

Draco closed his eyes.

Hermione rushed in to fill the awkwardness brewing, "Oh! I sprayed some of my perfume on before I left the hair salon! Oh, is it too much?" She scooted away from him.

"No. No, it's fine." He gave a look as though he were trying to remember something. "Smells flowery though. What is it?"

"Well, it's a Muggle perfume. I'm sure you wouldn't know it. It's um, sweet pea, and bergamot, geranium, freesia...rose...patchouli..." Hermione drifted off, feeling at once like she was boring someone who asked only out of barely interested politeness.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" said Draco, absently. "Well, we don't want to be late to watch Finnegan leer at Patil, do we?" He swooped up his flowers and started his walk to the pub.


	11. Obliviate

Draco and Hermione reached The Three Broomsticks, and seeing no sign of their friends, entered the noisy pub. Draco motioned to her his intent to stop at the bar first. He stepped back to Hermione and asked her what she'd like to drink.

"Cider, thank you."

Draco nodded and used the bouquet to guide himself through the crowd. Quickly choosing between picking through the sea of students and hanging back to watch Draco, she stood where she was and followed his back through the crowd. Most of the patrons were younger and shorter than he was, so she tracked him easily as he reached Madame Rosemerta and placed the flowers before her. Rosemerta closed her eyes, nodded, and walked away, leaving a young wizard with a handlebar mustache to take Draco's order.

He seemed to know she wouldn't follow him or leave to look for their friends, for Draco turned on his heels when his order was filled and walked Hermione's drink back to where they'd parted.

"Thanks. I'll get the next round," she said as she sipped a bit off the full pint to avoid a spill.

"Of course."

They had to walk to the back of the pub where they found a large corner table held by Dean, Anthony, and Seamus. Anthony saw them first, and he nudged his friends who looked up with twin looks of surprise and boys stood, and Anthony leaned in to give Hermione a quick peck in greeting. "Merlin, Hermione, you look lovely. You clean up like that back at school, and the lads will fail their NEWTS. Hey, Malfoy."

Draco nodded, pulling out a chair for Hermione and seating himself. Seamus and Dean were sneaking looks at her that brought the Yule Ball flooding back to her mind again. She grinned at Dean, who shrugged and pulled a face. "I'm eighteen and I was running in the woods for a year. Seamus is just a letch. Did Patil turn out anything like you today? Should I get an Impedimenta ready?"

Hermione snorted into her pint as Seamus gave Dean a hearty punch on the arm. "I've missed you two idiots a lot."

"Well, anyway, thanks again for bathing for us, Granger," Dean faked a sincere look.

"Cheers, Thomas. Bathing's nice. You should try it sometime."

Anthony rolled his eyes over the howls of Dean and Seamus' laughter and smiled at Hermione. "I expected to see you at Flourish and Blotts. I found the newest edition of _Transfiguration Today_. You can borrow it when I'm done if you want. It's brilliant."

"Thanks, I'd love to. What else did you do today? Did you go to the shops with Dean?"

"Oh, no," Dean cut in. "He couldn't be bothered to go with his mate to a perfectly pleasant park and read his precious Transfiguration book as long as Justin is in Hogsmeade. We wouldn't even have him here tonight if his boyfriend hadn't already had plans," Dean chuckled and slapped Anthony on the back and continued, "but that is fine. I can take my sketchbook and sit for a whole day, all by myself. It's fine. I'm used to solitude. Did I mention I ran for my life, often entirely alone, for a year?"

Seamus barked a laugh and thumped Dean on the arm again. "Laying it on a bit thick, yeah?"

Dean laughed in earnest at himself, snagging his arm around Anthony's shoulder, giving him a teasing shake. "I'm just jealous that I've not yet wooed my true love."

Anthony snorted. "That poor, poor girl."

Hermione grinned and glanced at Draco and saw that he was smiling, his body relaxing back into his chair, his long fingers toying with a small glass of whiskey. He saw her look and gave her a little smile of her own. Hermione returned it and felt a small flip in her stomach and tried to recall when she'd last eaten. She pushed back her glass and looked around for the specials board when she saw Parvati and Susan, gliding through the crowd of mostly Hogwarts students. They both appeared to be amused and rather pleased at the looks they were getting from the young men in the crowd.

Parvati bent down to greet Hermione, "Hello, beautiful!" They pecked the boys on the cheeks in greeting, Hermione noticing that for the first time yet this evening, Seamus was at a loss for cheeky banter. They ordered drinks and meals, and Hermione delighted in it all, her clothes, a hot meal not burned in its tin on a smoky fire, the deep rumbles of laughter from the young men with her. She felt a lump form in her throat, and gulped the last of her cider to keep the tears at bay. A boy popped from the crowd to their table.

"Oh, hullo, Hermione! I was going to bring these up to you, but here you are," he plunked down the large box of fireworks. Hermione poked a forkful of steak pie in her mouth and grabbed the box, nodding her thanks.

Anthony picked the box from her hands, turning it over in his. "How's George?"

Hermione swallowed her bite and patted her lips carefully with her napkin.

"Alive."

Anthony nodded sadly.

Seamus smiled softly at her, and nodded to the box in Anthony's hand. "What are we going to do with these?"

"We?" Hermione asked.

"Is there a place you plan on using these where I might miss it? Is that why you women go to the toilet in groups? To conjure fireworks displays?"

Susan grinned. "Secret's out, Finnegan. Hey, Hermione, there is no Quidditch or Hogsmeade weekend planned next Saturday. Why don't we have a bonfire for the seventh years and set these off? They have had a dreary couple of years. I've been worried about a few of mine."

Hermione grinned. "Sounds perfect. Bring Justin, Anthony."

Parvati chuckled. "McGonagall'll let him in. You know she's a hopeless romantic."

The group chatted happily through their meals and another round of drinks, but they eventually moved to break up their gathering. Hermione was neither tired nor intoxicated, but she suspected Seamus and Parvati were eager to be alone without being rude. Sure enough, they were quick to settle their bills and say their goodbyes. Hermione promised to deliver their shopping in the morning. The rest of the friends slowly picked their way along the shadowy path back to the castle. Not long after their meals appeared, the underage Hogwarts students had disappeared back to school to make curfew, and Hogsmeade had quieted again. Hermione was glad for the company; she wasn't afraid, but she no longer delighted in a quiet nighttime walk by herself. Somehow without realizing it, she had said her goodbyes to her friends without addressing or looking at Draco directly at all. She dropped her clutch on her dresser and leaned into the door to the bathroom she shared with Parvati. She startled to see Parvati washing her face in front of the mirror.

"Oh! Sorry! I, uh, thought you'd be a while," Hermione said.

Parvati smiled a dreamy smile. "Seamus is such a gentleman. He walked me back to the castle held my hand, and he told me I looked perfect. And he rubbed my hand with his thumb, and walked me to my door, and kissed me on the cheek, and I just... Oh, Hermione. He is so wonderful."

Hermione blinked for a moment, and then a voice in her head reminded her that a smile was in order. "Oh, Parvati. It sounds like, you, uh, really like him. That is, uh, so great!" Hermione smiled brightly and then bowed out of the bathroom to give Parvati privacy and herself a chance to giggle about the abrupt change that had come over her friend.

"Love is a very odd thing," Hermione mused to herself, and she peeled off her outfit and hung it up, choosing a pair of cotton leggings and a jersey knit camisole out of her wardrobe. She waited until she heard Parvati leave the bathroom, and she readied herself for bed mulling over love, and friendship, and Parvati's transfiguring glow.

* * *

Hermione was frozen in her living room, kneeling on the carpet behind her parents, holding her stomach, momentarily overcome. Her mother and father were snuggled up to each other on the sofa, reading dental journals. Her eyes were swimming with tears. "Obliviate."

Hermione was kneeling over Ron in the forest. Everything was gray. The leaves, his flannel shirt, the sky, his face. Only his shoulder was vivid, shining, sticky, quivering, red. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn't open the stopper. She needed that bottle open, now!

Hermione was kneeling in the ballroom of Malfoy Manor. She was nothing and all the pain, so much pain, just a little more, she could take a little more, and maybe it would be enough to for her to die. She hoped she'd die before she told the raving woman in front of her the truth about that sword. Why did it hurt more to have Draco watching her with those grey eyes? It did. More than Ron's screams from the basement. So much pain. So close. Almost.

Ron's screams from the basement rang in her ears and woke her. Detached, confused, Hermione heard the screams, and as she roused herself, she realized they weren't his screams at all. Her throat was on fire. "Lumos."

Hermione's nightmares followed a script during and after. She normally awoke with a sweaty keen awareness, going through her mental checklist of order and pathetic routine. Had she put a silencing charm on her room? Yes. Had she put up wards? No, Carna helped her not need the wards, anymore. She was safe. The war was over. The nightmare would be over. Tonight was different. She was still drowning in it, waves of fear rolling over her head, pulling her down, and she grabbed her wand and stumbled out of her room towards the stairs, gulping for breath.

Hermione found herself in the kitchens, her tears coming too fast for her to need to squint in the harsh light. She didn't notice the house elf folding a pile of freshly laundered tea towels on the kitchen island, and she didn't notice Draco Malfoy, who pulled his head out of his hands and rushed forward to catch her as she fell, sobbing, on the floor.


	12. Legilimens

Hermione was kneeling, her face on her lap, her back heaving with sobs. Draco's hands were shaking as he crouched down near her side. He sat on the floor and gently pulled her into him as though her were trying to shield her from falling debris. She pulled away enough to see his face, and her limp body went rigid.

"Y-you-you...w-watched me...Crucio..." Hermione started to shiver. Draco gripped her harder, and it jolted Hermione fully alert. "Y-you watched m-me...I know you h-hated m-me...M-Mudb-blood...and H-Harry...and R-Ron...but you watched me. Me. W-was I th-that bad-d, D-Draco?" She pulled her face up and furiously wiped away tears so she could see his face.

"No." Draco was crying.

"Why?" Hermione wasn't sure what question she was asking.

Draco was still gripping Hermione, taking inventory of her face, of her body, as though he were looking for a fresh wound. He whispered thickly through the tears dripping silently down his face, "She would have killed you. Slowly. She'd been threatening to toughen me up for weeks when they found you. She would have killed you, and she would have made me watch you die."

Hermione's breath calmed a little, and she sat, transfixed.

"How do you know?" she challenged, in a whisper.

"She Crucio'd me when you escaped. And that is what she said when she was doing it."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, without thinking.

"I'm not." Draco looked suddenly angry. "Do not apologize to me, Granger. Do not apologize to me when I haven't apologized to you," his voice was shaking.

"Neville said you apologized to him."

"Yes."

Hermione felt a rush of anger. She'd not been angry at Draco in the Manor; there was too much fear, and pain. She'd not felt angry at him after, even with her sessions with Carna. There was too much grief. She'd never expected anything from him. There was no betrayal. She wasn't prepared for the fury building inside her.

"Why him? Why him, and Rosemerta, and Merlin knows whom? Why not me? Why not me, Draco?"

"I couldn't." Draco was white-faced and so quiet, Hermione could barely hear him. But he held her gaze, his voice steady, even though tears were still spilling from his grey eyes. "I couldn't. There was so much, and you are so good. I was afraid."

"Afraid? Voldemort in your house and you were afraid? Of what? Do you know all of the things I was afraid of? Bellatrix Lestrange doesn't even top the list! What could you be afraid of? Of being reminded whose side you were on? Your shitty choices? That you wouldn't be forgiven? Would that even matter to you?" Hermione gasped for breath and paused to take in the effect her words had on him. She wanted him to look wounded, the coward.

"I was afraid you would forgive me. And you do matter. To me. You matter more than I can say."

The kitchens were silent. The house elves had scattered, and Hermione's ears were ringing. She stared at Draco, demanding more.

"I did think I hated you, once," he said. "My father encouraged it, especially when I couldn't stop talking about you. I thought I was jealous of you, friends with Potter, loved by the professors. I didn't hate you. I treated you like I did. I might as well have. I didn't. Ever."

Hermione sat for a minute, looking into his eyes. He looked broken, but defiant, as though he was preparing for her to challenge him. She thought about him in school, and now, and how she felt in the moment. Carna told her to be in the moment, and Hermione was completely present, in the kitchens, shivering, chest aching, nose stuffy, feeling Draco's hands still clutching her bare arms. Draco must have grasped some awareness as well, for he quickly shrugged off his gray cashmere cardigan and let go of Hermione just long enough to put it on her, as though she would disapparate if he lost contact. Hermione went limp and let him, her eyes still locked on his. The cardigan was an unexpectedly pleasant rush of sensations, soft and warm and,

"Oh."

Draco looked at her searchingly.

"My perfume. You knew it before, didn't you, Draco?"

Draco looked at her like his heart was breaking. "Yes. I did."

Hermione nodded and shuddered a sigh.

Draco looked at her thoughtfully for a moment more and then gently lifted her to her feet. Without a word, he half-carried her back to her room, the door to which she'd left open in her escape. He guided her to her bed and pulled the covers over her curling form, her face pointing at the wall. The tenderness of it made Hermione's eyes swim with tears. She could feel him hesitating over her, deciding, and then he pressed a kiss to her forehead and shut off her light. She could hear him moving in the corner of her room, a blue shadow under the thin window, as he curled up in the chair opposite her and grew still. She let sleep wash over her.

Hermione awoke on Sunday early and alone, wondering which parts of her night she had dreamed and which were real. She checked the door to her shared bathroom, and seeing it was open, turned the shower tap on. She stood with her forehead down, piercingly hot water sluicing away her scratchy throat, the itchy tears dried to her face. Eventually she came to and washed her hair and stumbled out of the bathroom, a cloud of vapor in her wake. She dried her hair, faintly remembering how Gauthier had styled it for her, and doing a decent imitation of it. She swiped on some mascara and woke up her sleep-paled face with a sweep of blush. Dumping out the contents of her clutch, she sorted the girls' things and pulled out a pair of soft, ice blue wool trousers and a white long sleeved tee. This Hermione could do, numbly letting her hands follow the drill and routine of a day. She set the pile of Parvati's things inside their shared bath, kicked on her loafers, and wandered down to Susan's room, where she set the tidy pile of her shopping outside the door.

Hermione made her way back up to the Great Hall, and spotted Neville and Hannah quietly sharing breakfast. Not wanting to disturb them with what she felt like would be her poor company, she gave them a little wave, and then settled down to a cup of tea and some toast with the few of her house who had risen early with her.

"Good morning, Sunshine."

Hermione startled, "Harry?"

Harry Potter leaned over her and swooped her in a hug before she could stand. He gripped her arms and pulled her back for inspection. " Your hair is beautiful. You look beautiful. But are you well? You don't look very rested. Is everything okay?"

Hermione smiled and leaned into him, breathing in his warm, familiar scent. "Everything is fine. I had trouble sleeping last night. Nothing unusual. The Healer is helping," she offered, knowing he wouldn't be satisfied knowing she was still troubled with sleep. "How are you?"

"I'm good. The Auror Training Program doesn't give me much time to think, which is probably for the best," he smiled as he ran his fingers through the untidy shock of black hair. Hermione wondered who was cutting it for him now. "I'm here," he said, answering the next question forming in her mouth, "to make sure the castle's standard wards are secure. I think it is a fairly small job, actually, but I suppose that is the kind of job they send the Trainees to do. Ron sends his love, too, by the way. He's still at the Hogsmeade shop. George was exhausted after yesterday."

Hermione smiled, sadly.

Harry looked off at a speck of dancing dust illuminated by the morning sunbeams. His eyes darted up to the entrance to the Hall. "Oh, there's Malfoy." He gave him a casual wave, beckoning him over. "I have to meet with him first. We need to go into the Room of Requirement and ensure the Vanishing Cabinet is thoroughly disabled from the fire." They both looked away from each other, uncomfortable with the last memories of that room. Draco walked over, cautiously looking at Hermione, his face tight. She gave him the faintest, tired smile, and his face softened. "Potter, Granger."

"Do you want to get breakfast first, Malfoy?" Harry put his hand on Hermione's shoulder, and she knew he'd rather stay and linger over tea with her.

"No, thank you. Let's get this over with, if you don't mind."

Harry nodded, and turned back to Hermione, who was still seated, playing with her tea cup. He swooped his arms over her and hugged her from behind, pressing his lips into her hair. "Bye, Hermione. I'll look for you when we are done." She leaned up to smile at Harry and saw Draco's blank face watching them. "Bye, Harry. I'll be around," she murmured.


	13. Impervius

Hermione left breakfast and intended to go to the library, but her feet led her towards the hospital wing and Carna's office. The sun was shining on her door, and Hermione whispered her entrance to the room. Carna was curled up in a chair in front of the fire, her tanned, weathered features crinkled into a faraway smile. Hermione leaned on the door frame and studied her.

"Please do come in. My bones feel cold and creaky today. I'm warming up. Have a seat. Tea?" Carna waved at the tray in front of her.

"Yes, thank you." Hermione poured a healthy slosh of milk at the bottom of her cup. She hadn't taken her tea that way since she was small. "I had a nightmare. Three, actually. One after the other. My parents. The one with Ron's shoulder. And the Manor."

Carna nodded, "Same as usual?"

"Yes. No. The last one. Draco. It was worse this time. It hurt everywhere. I felt like my heart was breaking. Then I got out of bed and ran to the kitchens. I don't even know if I was awake. I didn't dress. I didn't put on shoes. And he was there, Draco. In the kitchens."

"What did it feel like to see him?"

"I was still...hysterical. He held me. And I was so angry."

"Why do you think that was?"

Hermione considered the question. "He...he saw me, he was with me, for six years. At breakfast, learning how to ride a broom, in Potions, at the Yule Ball, in detention. And then on the floor of his home, begging to die. It's ridiculous, really. I should be furious about all of that. But I don't think that's it at all."

"What do you think it is, then?"

"I think," and Hermione let out a gasp between a bark of laughter and a sob, "I think I'm angry because he didn't apologize to me, first."

"Did you tell him this?"

"I think so. In so many words. He said he couldn't. I think, um, he may have...liked me once? I think he might be thinking I can't forgive him. Or I shouldn't."

"Can you? Should you?"

"I think I have to."

"Why is that?" Carna cocked her head slightly.

"Because I want to be done. Because I'm tired of carrying it all around. Because he isn't an entitled, devious fourteen-year-old anymore. Because I want to feel normal. That would be justice for me. Normal."

"What does normal look like?"

Hermione coughed a little laugh. "I don't even know. This is all so mad. I am mad."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because when we were in Hogsmeade last night, Draco looked at me like he fancied me...and I liked it."

Hermione stayed with Carna for a while longer, and then, feeling more at peace, she went back up to her room to get her book bag and a wrap. Carna wasn't the only one who was feeling chilled today. She pulled a large navy rectangle of thin, navy wool out of her trunk and gathered it around her shoulders. She flicked her wand at her unmade bed and saw Draco's cardigan peeking out at her. She put her wand down and touched it, tentatively, and then she picked it up and sat on her bed, with one knee curled under her, the other leg dangling over the side.

Slowly, she pulled the cardigan to her face, closed her eyes, and breathed in its scent. A faint cologne, spicy, clean. Lemon verbena and sandalwood. Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked them back and carefully folded the cardigan and tucked it gently into her bag. She stood and waved her wand over her bed, grabbed her bag, and headed to the library.

Two hours later, she had finished a complicated Potions essay that had required her to cite multiple sources. It left her alert and calm. She looked up and saw Harry ambling toward her.

"Hi. Fancy a lunch date?"

"Are you buying, Harry? I spent my lunch money for the week on these trousers."

Harry grinned. "Sure. Let's go to Broomsticks. I need to get out of here. That was more than I'd bargained for."

Hermione let him walk her back to her room, where he was able to catch Parvati and say hello. Hermione curled into her cloak, and they walked in silence from the castle and down the path to Hogsmeade.

"What made today more than you expected? Was it hard to find the cabinet?"

"No. Draco found it immediately. It was near where they found Crabbe's body. They hadn't moved anything but him."

"That must have been hard."

"For me? Is it terrible that it wasn't? For Draco, yeah. I think it was hard for him," Harry jammed his hands in his pockets and squinted absently at the stream of owls leaving the owlery and heading south.

"Draco asked me for a word."

"Did he?" Hermione wasn't sure how much she wanted to hear.

"He said he was sorry he'd used the cabinet to let Death Eaters into our school. He said he was sorry he made it so that I would have to watch Dumbledore die. He said he was sorry he made me feel alone at the Tri-wizard Tournament. Sorry that he was horrible to the people I loved best. He said he was sorry that he had been the type of kid that I wouldn't want to shake hands with on the first day of school."

Hermione sucked in a breath. "What did you say?"

"Nothing. I shook his hand."

Hermione nodded. There was really nothing else to say. Harry leaned in and put his arm around Hermione, and they made their way in silence to the pub.


	14. Liberacorpus

Hermione was basking in the warmth of Harry. She never considered it special to be friends with someone famous, or chosen, but since the final battle, Harry had a quiet confidence and peace about him that soothed her soul. They were able to settle back into an easy, familiar banter as they tucked into large bowls of onion soup and piles of crusty bread. Harry, insisting his work duties were done for the day, bought them each a pint of ale, and they savored their food and drink slowly, happy for the time together. Harry had been interested to hear about her studies, and her mentoring of the younger students, and he shared what he had learned about the restructuring of the Ministry, pointing out the many and various departments which he believed were in dire need of Hermione's talents.

"Tell me about Ginny, Harry," Hermione said as she swirled a dessert spoon through the whipped cream of a wide slice of Harry's treacle tart.

Harry smiled. "She's loving the Harpies. I think, even more than the Quidditch, she is loving the freedom of it, the travel, being outside in the fresh air. I'm not patient." Hermione smirked. "But," Harry grinned, noting his friend's reaction, "we need this time, you know? To try things we wanted to try. We had time for a proper date last week. Dinner. A play. It was nice. You should try it sometime," he grinned.

"Well, there is that bit about finding someone to date."

Harry pulled a face. "Unlike our friend Ron," he said, casually smoothing some crumbs onto the floor, and looking up at her through a shock of black hair, "I was always quite aware that you were a girl. So are other lads, by the looks of it." He turned slightly so Hermione would follow his eyes, and she spotted a handsome young wizard wearing a sandy, tweed waistcoat furtively looking at her. Harry turned back to her, raising his eyebrows, his green eyes twinkling. Hermione grinned, and scooped up the last bite of tart. Harry slapped the table. "So. I have forgiven that git Malfoy. I have gone out on a proper date this week with my girlfriend. I am spending some much needed time with my dear friend Hermione that doesn't involve us fighting evil wizards."

"You are still fighting evil wizards."

Harry set his jaw. "We've been over this, 'Mione. It's what I want to do right now. You know I'd go mad behind a desk."

"What about behind a desk in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom?"

"Someday," Harry smiled. "Maybe. You are relentless. Anyway, I have ticked off three things off my to-do list. Four if you count my actual job. You should be proud of me. What about your list?"

"Yes. I suppose I have more to tick off my list, Harry. I need to crawl out of my head and live some more, don't I?"

"You are being hard on yourself. You spent...years with me, for me. You'd listen to me, and I didn't return the favor as often as I should have. It's going to take some time. But yeah. Just be, Hermione. Let's just work on living a little, yeah?" He grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

"Harry."

"Yeah?"

"It's going to be hard for all these blokes you say want to ask me out to get up any nerve if you keep holding my hand."

Harry barked a laugh and let go over her. "Too right. Let's get you back to the castle. Sounds like you have a busy week." Hermione grabbed her coat and flicked her eyes over the wizard who had been eyeing her earlier. She held his gaze a second longer than was easy. Flirting was hard work, she mused. She had some catching up to do.


	15. Muffliato

Hermione returned to the castle feeling warm and sleepy from her meal and her pint. She drifted back to the library to look for Draco to return his jumper. She spotted Susan, Dean, and Seamus at a table, and they told her Draco had left them about an hour before to go to his room. Unsure of where that might be, Hermione made her way down to the dungeons, and just before the entrance to the Slytherin common room, she found a large oak door like her own with a tiny brass plaque engraved with _D. Malfoy_. She stepped closer to knock, and she could feel the muffled thump of base notes. She hesitated, leaning in to listen. It sounded Muggle. She knocked loudly. The music stopped, and the lock clicked, allowing the heavy door to swing open. Draco was barefoot, wearing khaki trousers and pulling a snug white cotton vest over his damp head. She found herself staring. Hastily, he buttoned the topmost button on his trousers and waved her in. "Granger," he nodded through his lowered face, the shock of damp hair in his eyes.

His room was the same size as hers, though in place of her spacious desk, Draco had positioned a leather punching bag. The space was immaculate; his small bookshelf orderly, and his bed made with a military precision. He gestured to a stuffed chair in the corner and sat on his bed, looking at her cautiously.

Hermione grasped random thoughts in her head for a moment, searching for the one to remind her why she'd come.

"Oh! Thank you. For this," she remembered, carefully removing the cardigan from her bag and smoothing it gently back into its folded square. "May I have it sent out to be cleaned? I'm afraid I slept in it."

Draco reached in and took it from her. "No, that is not necessary."

Hermione nodded. "Well, thank you." She looked around for a wireless. "What was that you were listening to earlier? Was it Muggle?"

"Indeed. And American. Dr. Dre. New album."

Hermione shook her head like she was trying to shake out what she'd heard. "For starters, how did you get a stereo to work in the castle?"

Draco pointed his wand to the corner opposite Hermione, to a crank-operated gramophone. I buy vinyl."

"Where?"

"London. There's a shop in Salisbury near the Manor. Good shop in Edinburgh in the Grassmarket..."

"Why?"

Draco nodded thoughtfully.

"It's as angry as I was. It is Muggle, and completely repellent to my father, which was as much rebellion as I could attempt that wouldn't get me killed straightaway... It drowned out the screaming."

Hermione shuddered. Draco's brow furrowed, remembering.

"Silencio? Muffilato?"

Draco shook his head. "When they didn't make me watch, I went to my room. I could silence my room, so Voldemort couldn't hear me and drag me out. But I could hear the screaming, the begging. Sometimes I would make myself listen, because I felt like his victims, ...our victims, deserved as much. But I was so afraid I would become like them, like Aunt Bella. Like it was normal," he shivered.

Hermione nodded, wanting to be done with this. She leaned over and picked up the album, scanning the stack. There was a magazine underneath. She picked it up as well and examined it. You read _Rolling Stone_? I don't think there is anything more Muggle, is there?

Draco shrugged.

"You must be quite the fan, now." She looked at the scowling blond rapper on the cover and looked back at the blond facing her, his brow still wrinkled in an unwitting imitation. "Did anyone ever mention at the record shops that you really..." she started, but then stopped herself. She meekly replaced the album and the magazine on the tidy stack next to the gramophone.

Draco let her leave her thought unfinished. "Did you have a nice time on your date with Potter?" He was trying, poorly, to sound casual. Hermione supposed he wondered if Harry shared their conversation and his apology.

"Not quite a date like you might mean. You do know he is seeing Ginny Weasley. He is besotted."

"Oh, I guess they were an item at Hogwarts. That still on then?"

"Yes, so he tells me, and I am very glad for it."

"I would have assumed it was Ron that filled you in on the Weasley news."

Hermione lifted her chin and leveled a look at Draco. "I haven't talked to Ron since I returned to Hogwarts. I miss his friendship, but it is for the best really. For now."

"Oh."

Hermione let her eyes drift over the boy across from her on his bed. She was peeling away the years of name calling, the sneering derision, the willingness to take the Dark Mark. She took in what remained, his gentle expression, his hair darkened from his shower, his biceps shaping the thin sleeves of his t-shirt, his lithe form looking elegant in casual clothing not meant to impress. Draco caught her assessing him, and leveled her a look that told her so. It made her feel a bit bold. She gathered herself, tucking a stray thick curl behind her ear and sitting up fully in the chair.

"Actually, Harry was telling me that I needed to go on some proper dates. Not the kind where I kill a Horcrux at the end." She smiled, sadly, got up from her chair, and walked to the door, stopping to gesture at the magazine she'd set on the pile. "Please go back to calling me Hermione. I like it. And that Eminem bloke is really the spitting image of you, just there. He's fit, too, but you should really smile more, Draco." She raised an eyebrow to his blank expression and let herself out.

Hermione headed back to her room, her heart thumping with a little jolt of energy. She was greeted with tapping from two owls pecking at her window. She let them both in and fished a couple of owl treats from an antique ironstone sugar jar next to her bed. She reached for Fawkes, Harry's new owl, first. He nuzzled her hand affectionately and turned to soar out into the darkening afternoon sky.

She pulled open Harry's note. _Hermione, please don't be upset. I was put on the spot. That bloke at the pub who was checking you out caught up with me after you'd left and asked about you. I guess our handholding didn't put him off, eh? Anyway, don't hex me. I only told him your name and that you were here. I figure if he's a nutter, at least you won't see him much. x -H_

Hermione grimaced and opened the second note, delivered by a clever-looking barn owl.

_Hello, Miss Granger,_

_I saw you __in the pub earlier, and I hope it isn't too bold to say you saw me? I've never done this before, (Although if I had, I suppose I'd say the same!) but I was hoping I could meet you for a drink sometime? I was in town for business this weekend but would like to return for a more pleasant reason. Your friend Harry Potter gave me your name. I will be back next Friday. Interested?_

_ Christopher Sly_

_ Buckingham Street, __Covent Garden, __London_

It was one of the few moments in her life in which Hermione was completely unsure of how to proceed. She stared at the parchment for a moment, and then decided to go find Parvati. That is what girlfriends are supposed to be for, Hermione thought, and she wandered through their shared bath to knock at her door. Parvati pulled it open, and Hermione grinned. Parvati was half-dressed reading an Arithmancy text and curling her hair with her wand. Celestina Warbeck was wailing about unrequited love from the wireless on her bureau. She flopped down in Parvati's chair and wordlessly held out the two parchments to her, noting the moment when she got to the second, as Parvati's eyes widened.

"Well, yes! You are free. No actually, you are not free, you have a date. With Mr. Christopher Sly, of London."

Hermione felt rattled. "Do you think I should? I mean, is this normal?"

"Who knows, but it's amazing! I think it's romantic. Celestina has a song just like this - " Just One Cup at Madam Puddifoot's" - although that one ends with the man jumping off a bridge. But it is so romantic," Parvati sighed.

"That sounds...huh. So you think I should reply?"

Parvati's eyes narrowed. "Was he fit?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "Well, er, yeah. Yeah he was. Quite."

Parvati smirked. "Give it a couple of hours. Like you have to check your calendar first. Give him some time to wonder about you."

Hermione sighed. "Seriously? All right then. I'll accept. I'll let you know when I set a time so you can call Magical Law Enforcement if I don't come back."

Parvati rolled her eyes. "Live a little, Granger."


	16. Sonorous

Hermione stared at the parchment on her desk, rereading it for the third time, changing the inflection in her voice with each read through.

_Mr. Sly,_

_ I have a prior engagement on the night of the 12th. I would be pleased to meet you for drinks at Broomsticks earlier in the evening. How does 5 sound?_

_ -Hermione_

Christopher Sly did not need to know that her prior engagement was going to consist of studying Transfiguration in the Hogwarts library with whomever happened to be available that night. She folded the parchment and slipped it into a small envelope onto which she'd written his name. Resisting the urge to pull the note from the envelope and read it again, Hermione walked the note up to send it with a school owl. She caught up with Dean on the way up to the stairs of the Owlery.

"Hullo, Dean."

"Hey, Hermione, whatcha up to, love?"

"Well, a businessman from London eyed me at The Three Broomsticks and tracked me down through Harry to Hogwarts, and owled me for a date, and I am sending a reply to accept."

"You are a laugh."

"I am telling the truth, Dean. Should I be offended that you think I'm joking?" she smirked.

Dean looked at her, a smile playing at his mouth. "Bloody hell, you are serious, aren't you, Granger? Good for him, the lucky git," he barked a laugh.

Hermione grinned. Reaching the doorway to the Owlery, she reached in and coaxed the nearest owl to accept her note. "Dean, are you free next Friday night at, say, eight to study Transfiguration with Susan and me, maybe Parvati as well?"

"Sadly, yes. Why?"

"I need a reason to be back at the castle after my one drink with this bloke."

Dean snorted and shook his head at her. "You really are something else. No, that's a good idea, actually. I've been tutoring some second years during the week. I could use a bit more time for my own work." Dean finished sending off his own owl and nodded a goodbye to Hermione.

The following week was a steady one for Hermione, with only one sadly routine nightmare, and the satisfying feeling of progress on her studies gave her energy and peace. She and Neville gathered a group of older students for a combined study session for Herbology and Potions, and the group of her fellow eighth years were gaining in both knowledge and efficiency. They'd learned, over the fall months, about each other's strengths, and used each other for reference and remediation. Hermione was still an all-around outstanding student, but she appreciated Neville's brilliance in Herbology. Parvati and Susan were gifted in their Charms work, and Draco, who had shown the school his ability to repair a Vanishing Cabinet to deadly effectiveness, often had the upper hand even on Hermione in Transfiguration. He was also superior in the Dark Arts, though Hermione had only firsthand experience in the defense against them, and none of the eldest students at Hogwarts who came back to fight felt they needed any extra study in the subject after a grisly year of practical experience.

Her schoolwork kept her so engrossed that by the time it occurred to Hermione to be nervous for her date, it was already late Friday afternoon. Parvati was curled up in the chair in Hermione's room, and it was fitting that she was snacking on a bowl of popcorn, because she was watching Hermione get ready for her date like it was an entertaining film.

"Wear that top," she gestured with her wand.

"This one? I won't look too brooding with the trousers?" Hermione pivoted in the long mirror in their shared bath.

"Nah. Dead sexy. You wear the same shoe size as I do, yeah? Wear these," Parvati levitated a pair of black heels out of her wardrobe and sent them sailing across the room to Hermione.

Hermione was wearing a pair of black tapered trousers and a bateau neck black top. She flipped the shoes on and grinned at her reflection. "This'll do. Thanks. I'll see you in the library later. If I send you a Patronus, summon an Auror. Here goes nothing." She grabbed her black traveling cloak and her purse, and headed out to Hogsmeade.

Her glance at Christopher Sly had been so fleeting, even for its flirtiness, that she was a bit anxious that she might not recognize if he was at the pub or not. Fortunately, she saw him leaning casually against the front of the building long before she approached the door. He was seated when she'd seen him before; she could see now that he was taller than she had imagined. He was wearing a chocolate tartan sportcoat, a pale blue collared shirt, and jeans, and Hermione was at once glad for the influence of Muggle clothing on new Wizard fashion.

He saw her approach and gently straightened himself away from the wall, walking towards her. "Hermione? Christopher," he said, warmly, taking the hand she offered and shaking it firmly, a gesture which Hermione appreciated.

"Hello, Christopher. It's nice to see you. Again." Hermione gave a playful smile, and let him open the door to the pub.

The earliness of the hour gave them relative peace and a decent booth by the windows. Hermione ordered a cider, and Christopher asked for a pint of lager.

"So," Christopher smiled at her. Hermione sucked in a laughing breath and grinned at the man opposite her. His dark blond hair was carefully trimmed, and the scruff of a beard and dark blue eyes made him as handsome to Hermione now as she had been remembered. "Please tell me about yourself. Why did you return to Hogwarts when you should be done?"

"Well, I suppose you know of Harry," Hermione smiled a tight, polite smile. She had already had to fend off too many questions from reporters and distant, almost acquaintances, and she had a feeling this was not going to stop for a very long time. "I was with him all last year. With our friend Ron Weasley. I missed a year of school, and I fancied myself a serious student, so I had to finish," She stopped for a bracing sip of cider. "Plus, I need a year for the Ministry to settle, because I expect that is where I will end up."

"Really? Doing what?"

"I don't quite know yet. I was - I am - interested in Elf rights," Hermione flicked her eyes up to gauge Christopher's reaction. He nodded, sympathetically. Encouraged, she continued, "and I am Muggleborn, so I suppose I am also interested in making the Ministry a safe and diverse place for witches and wizards of all blood and backgrounds." Hermione took another sip of cider and realized she'd never said that out loud before. It sounded like a statement on a CV. Perhaps she'd have to write that down later and think about it.

Christopher nodded. "Is it hard, being back at the castle? Since you fought in the Last Battle?"

Hermione blanched. "A bit. Although I don't know honestly if it would be easier anywhere else. It really hasn't been a long time ago, has it? So, please tell me about you. What sort of business are you in? What brought you to Hogsmeade?" Hermione was desperate to change the subject away from her nightmares and trauma. She felt like they were already written all over her face for anyone to read.

He put his pint down and leaned back into the booth. "I own Nimbus. Family business - we just bought Cleensweep out a few years ago. But I still like to do the Hogsmeade accounts myself. I left Hogwarts five years ago, and I am starting to get nostalgic."

Hermione pulled a face and nodded in pretend sympathy. "Yes, you do seem rather old enough to."

Christopher grinned. "Well, it is good to be back. And it is wonderful to see it returning to itself, slowly."

They spent several pleasant minutes talking about their favorite Hogsmeade haunts, and although Hermione could not truthfully include the Hogsmeade branch of Quality Quidditch Supplies on her shortlist, Christopher was pleased that she had indulged Harry over the years in presents centering on his favorite hobby. He was impressed that she'd bothered to read _Quidditch Through the Ages_, and he generously asked her about her favorite books. Even though he'd already had a hint that this would be a long conversational detour, he appeared quite happy to take it with her. They talked at length about Hogwarts; he'd remembered Harry as the young Gryffindor Seeker, and some of the more colorful events from her first two years, but his years as a Hufflepuff did not overlap with many of her memories. He'd told a ridiculously silly story about Professor Flitwick and a Charms class gone very badly wrong, and Hermione lost herself in free laughter.

Hermione reflected that this was going better than she could have possibly expected. They caught their breath from their shared amusement and looked at each other, smiling shyly. Hermione could feel a blush on her cheeks.

"I'm glad you are there for the younger students, Hermione. I hope they can have some of the fun we did. It sounds like what _The Prophet _says is true, then. They really have been through a lot."

Hermione nodded, soberly. "Yes, I don't think I want to be a professor, but I am surprised how much I like being there for the Gryffindors, for all of the students, actually."

"Even the Slytherins, then?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione took a drink of her cider, innocently puzzled by the question.

"Well, I heard at Quality Quidditch they've let in the children of people who are suspected of supporting Voldemort."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Well, what are they supposed to do with them?"

Christopher shrugged. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

Hermione stared. She tilted her head and formed her words carefully. "I would think it does, yes. They are children. They are still learning how the world works and deciding how to treat people. I think that it does matter that the professors of Hogwarts invite them in and educate them honestly and openly, where they can learn the truth about the world...and make friends."

Christopher did not seem to notice the chill that had descended over the table. "I think we need to make an example. Polonius Morcombe's a friend of the family, a Governor of Hogwarts. He said the same. Said the lot of them should be thrown into Azkaban, no matter their age. Thought you of all people would agree to that."

Hermione looked at him blankly. "I'm not sure you can say just yet what sorts of things I'd agree to."

The coldness of her words caught him up to her feelings on the matter. He seemed deeply torn, but chose to dig in his position. "I would never associate with anyone who ever claimed to support Voldemort."

Many things that had been left previously undecided in Hermione's mind quickly settled themselves.

"I may have agreed with you once," Hermione said quietly, her finger wiping a pattern of condensation on the table. She flicked her eyes up to meet his. "That was before I saw exactly what kind of evil he was capable of. He brought out the best and the worst in a lot of us. Some of us on the right side of things still have some apologizing to do." She sighed, knowing where she was headed. "Thank you for the drinks. I really did enjoy meeting you, and I will be sure to say hello to Fergus at Quality Quidditch the next time I go with the students," she smiled, sadly, and grabbed her purse and her traveling cloak and stood.

Christopher stood at once. "Hermione, we were all part of that war. We are all entitled to our opinions about it."

Hermione nodded. "You are absolutely right. But mine are a little fresh at the moment. It was nice to meet you, Christopher."

Hermione turned away from him and walked out of the pub.


	17. Vera Verto

The evening was clear and crisp, and the fragrant wood fires from the village scented the air with fall. It was the sort of night in which Hermione would have enjoyed walking back to Hogwarts, perhaps holding someone's hand. But tonight, after taking a deep breath to center herself, Hermione apparated back to the perimeter of the Hogwarts grounds. She passed through the gates and made her way past Hagrid's hut. Noticing that his lights were on, she apologized silently for being in no mood for a visit, and she made a straight path to the castle and her room. She met no one on the way, and was glad for it. Her anger with Christopher had been so swift to gather that it startled her, and although she was proud of her composure and of her beliefs, she ruminated over what it all meant, why she felt so protective. And whom, exactly, was she defending? Her words to him were in defense of the young children whose parents were drawn into the inquiries still being made into potential Death Eater allegiances, but she had been thinking all along about Draco, sedated by Veriteserum, his fading Dark Mark a raw pink welt rubbing against the iron cuff securing him to the Ministry courtroom.

Christopher was strikingly handsome. It had flattered her more than she would care to admit that he had sought her out. It excited her to discover that he was charming, witty, successful. She'd laughed and flirted and been flattered again when he'd asked about her, her likes, passions, and ambitions. He had been drinking her in, and it was fresh to her, and it had felt amazing, and now Voldermort had, beyond his mouldering, unmarked grave, ruined it. Another beautiful thing killed. Or maybe she should be grateful she'd discovered this now. Certainly if she was at odds with him about this, there would be other things? Hermione threw off her cloak and hung it angrily in her wardrobe. She peeled off her clothes and changed into jeans and her King's College tee, wanting to erase this night completely, hoping that removing all evidence of her having gone on this failed date at all would take all the disappointment and longing away with it. It was ten minutes to eight, so she grabbed her bag and headed to the library. She had missed dinner, but her appetite was missing, too.

Dean, Susan, and Parvati arrived moments before Hermione, and Parvati swiftly guided the pair to a table where Seamus was sitting, a Care of Magical Creatures book open in front of him. Draco was seated at an adjacent table with plenty of room, and Hermione laid her things down across from him and bent over her books. He gave her a nod and a quiet hello, and returned his focus to his Charms text. Parvati leaned toward Hermione, prepared to gush and cajole her into spilling the giddy details of her date, but Dean caught her arm and pointedly looked at Hermione's face, which was pale and businesslike. Parvati bit her lip and looked at Seamus, who had watched Hermione come into the library. He gave Parvati a cautionary shake of his head and squeezed her knee affectionately under the table. Susan had either missed the whole exchange or had wisely chosen to ignore it, because she opened her notes and began to ask the group questions she had not yet found the answers to in her Transfiguration reading. Hermione was grateful for the work to distract her. They studied productively for over an hour, and then Dean yawned and asked to call it a night. Hermione looked up in time to see Seamus stretch and pull Parvati to him in a sleepy embrace. The tenderness of this brought fresh tears to her eyes. She had not noticed Draco taking in her reaction, and the shock of his hand moving to cover hers pushed the tears to fall in earnest.

Parvati looked over at her in alarm, but before she could speak, Draco had wordlessly summoned Hermione's things into her bag, crossed to her side of the table, and gathered Hermione close, leading her out of the library, her bag over his shoulder. Hermione wasn't half delirious from a nightmare this time, and she allowed herself to stop thinking and feel the warmth of Draco's arm around her, his steady breath, his scent which was faint in the air but came crashing in on Hermione like a physical force. He walked her carefully, his long stride slowing to match the pace of her small frame, and Hermione found herself disappointed when they met her door, and nervous for what should happen next. He stepped back from her so that she could whisper her password privately, but she was done with secrets tonight.

"Dobby, The password is Dobby." She turned to look at him and he nodded gravely.

The door swung open and Hermione stepped back to take Draco's hand and bring him in with her. She didn't know if he wanted to come in or not, but she suddenly felt very selfish and very lonely.

Draco turned to her, his jaw clenched. "Dean said that you went to Hogsmeade to meet someone. Someone you'd never met. Something bad happened. Did he hurt you?"

"No. Yes."

Draco jerked to the door. Hermione put her hands on his shoulders to stop him. "He reminded me of all that I've lost. He - we - didn't agree on some important things. But he was very kind. To me, anyway. He wanted to know about me. The only person who seems half as interested in me as he was is Carna, and she gets paid to be." Hermione spat this out and then immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry, Draco. You knew I was upset, and you saved me from the library. Thank you." She went to draw him into a hug, but he took hold of her arms and held her away from him. She looked at him as though she'd been slapped.

"No, Hermione. No, I didn't save you. I didn't. I did not save you. And it will always hurt that I couldn't have. I'm sorry you lost Dobby. I am so sorry, Hermione. I am sorry that I teased you about your sweet face; I am sorry I scared you in the halls; I am sorry I got you in trouble in Potions. I am sorry that you held your wand tighter when I was near you, and I am sorry I brought the war to you in a Vanishing Cabinet. I am sorry that I didn't sit with you in the hospital wing, and I am sorry that I helped to put you there. I am sorry I wasn't brave enough to ask you to dance with me at the Yule Ball, and I am sorry I wasn't kind enough that you might have said yes. And I am so sorry that I didn't say this before. I should have come to you first. Harry had Voldemort for his foe, and Neville had Bellatrix, but I made myself the worst possible person just for you. I am sorry I didn't trust you to either accept the mess that I am - or to have the full right to tell me you hate me more than any person alive. I am so sorry, Hermione."

Hermione stared at him, and Draco looked flustered. "I'm putting you on the spot. You don't - you don't have to say anything. Let me tell you one more thing. Please. You said this man was the only one interested in you. And that isn't true. Your friends here all love you. And I...I...didn't need to ask about you...I know that your favorite color is blue, and you miss your cat but can't bear to get another one yet, and you take your tea plain. I know you are planning a Ministry career, and you are the only person I know of here besides Binns and me that has read _Hogwarts, A History_. I know you were dating McLaggan to make Weasley mad. I know you love Hagrid but you thought his lessons weren't half as good as Grubbly-Plank's. I know you still cover your mouth when you laugh but you are trying to stop doing it. I know you skip meals when you are upset, but you are starving now. So let's go to the kitchens to get something for you to eat. Hermione stared into Draco's clear grey eyes. Stunned, she looked down at his hands, still gently holding her arms.

"How...uh, how did you know I was hungry?"

Draco's shoulders relaxed and he gave her a playful smirk. "Your stomach is growling like you swallowed a ghoul. Come on. Let's go eat something. You missed a decent-looking stew." He slid his hands down, took hers in his, and led her out of the room to head downstairs to get her supper.

They walked silently, comfortably down to the kitchens, still holding hands. Again, she fought and won against the urge to think, and instead calmed herself in Draco's steady presence beside her. The kitchens were still lively with house elves finishing the cleanup from dinner and the preparations for tomorrow's meals. Upon pushing the door open, Draco spied an elf wearing the standard Hogwarts tea towel uniform, standing over a stock pot at the stove. This elf had added an oven mitt which he was sporting on his head like a chef's toque. Draco smiled at him, grandly. "Hello, Chef. Table for two, please. The reservation is under Malfoy." The house elf turned to face him, looking at Draco like he'd just tried to order a takeaway curry in Parseltongue. Draco grimaced. "Ah. Sorry. May we have some leftovers from dinner, please?"

The elf nodded. "Of course, sir."

Hermione grinned in spite of herself and sat down opposite Draco at the kitchen island. The elves hurried toward them with steaming bowls of lamb stew, a boule of crusty bread, and a carafe of water with two glasses. They thanked the elves and tucked into their food for some minutes in silence.

Hermione noticed Draco had quickly polished off his bowl. "Didn't you eat before?"

"No, I guess I wasn't very hungry either."

Hermione started to form a question and changed her mind before she could. She nodded, and tore off a hunk of bread and handed it to him. He accepted it with a small smile.

"You missed out on our final plans for tomorrow," Draco said as he put down his bread and began to tick a mental list off on his hand. "Susan got Hannah and Neville on the job to build the bonfire; Dean said he and you had enough of that, and Neville had some brush that he and Hagrid had wanted to clear from the gardens near the greenhouse. So that's sorted. Anthony is bringing Justin; Sprout wanted to see her favorite Hufflepuff anyway. Justin said he and Anthony'd pick up some butterbeers and marshmallows in Hogsmeade. Parvati said you and she would get popcorn and pumpkin juice from the kitchens. Susan was going to get sticks for roasting the marshmallows and help Seamus make sure the seventh years were in line and approved to go - Ogden let off a stinkbomb in the Ravenclaw dormitory, and there are a couple others serving detentions." Draco reached the end of his list and broke off, nodding.

Hermione smiled. It was wonderful, for once, to let others organize plans and just be excited to join in them. "Sounds great," she said, "but what are Dean and you doing?"

"DJs." Draco preened, comically.

"Ah. Not with your rap records, I hope?"

Draco shook his head and grinned. "No, I suppose not, but perhaps I will make you a fan, someday."

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes. "It's good to have big dreams, even if they seem unreachable."

Draco's smile was soft and thoughtful. "It is."


	18. Incendio

Saturday dawned crisp and sunny, and the charmed ceiling of the Great Hall predicted a beautiful day for the bonfire for the seventh years. Hermione started the day early with Hannah and Carna; the three of them had begun to practice yoga together a couple of mornings a week. At first, Hermione reasoned that she was too tired from the nightmares to set an alarm, but the practice was so centering that she found she had been sleeping much better. It was also good to see Hannah, for she had been spending so much time with Neville that Hermione had only seen her in shared classes. When they finished putting away their mats and helping Carna straighten her office, the two young women walked up to breakfast.

"Are you and Neville spending the day together?"

"No, we aren't. He said he won't see me until dinner time to get the fire going. He already went out by himself this morning with Hagrid and set everything up. He said he had some errands to do in Hogsmeade, and that I probably needed a Neville-free day occasionally."

"Oh?" Hermione didn't want to feed Hannah any bad thoughts, but that seemed odd for Neville, without a good explanation. Neville was never one to make anyone worry.

"Well," grinned Hannah, "I did ask him if he needed a Hannah-free day, but he, uh, let me know that wasn't an issue." She blushed.

"Oh, Right." Hermione cleared her throat and looked around the Great Hall. The seventh years were already buzzing with the excitement of having a party just for themselves, and Hermione smiled at their anticipation, finding that she shared in it, too. She and Hannah chatted happily over bowls of porridge about the younger students and how they were settling in well, all things considered. Hermione had been tutoring a few of them, one seventh-year Ravenclaw boy in Arithmancy, and two third-year girls in Ancient Runes. She was telling Hannah how she was unable to convince Jamie that he really was doing exceptionally well in Arithmancy and didn't need her tutoring, when she had to stop for Hannah's giggles, which had started silently but were now quite obvious.

"What?"

"Well," Hannah said, choking down another laugh. "You are supposed to be the smartest witch in our class, but uh, Parvati nailed it. Sometimes you are a bit daft."

Hermione gaped at her. "And you are supposed to be the nicest! What am I missing, then?" She crossed her arms and looked at her, trying not to smile at Hannah's obvious delight in her confusion.

"This Jamie bloke isn't interested in Arithmancy. Honestly, Hermione. You spend six years in the library or off with Ron and Harry, you fight Death Eaters, and then you come back fit with hair potions in your trunk and _The Prophet_ on your tail and you seem thoroughly surprised that roughly half of the Hogwarts boys fancy you. Didn't you find yourself trying to explain this very same situation to Hot Harry a few years ago?" Hannah patted her hand on Hermione's arm and chuckled. "Daft. I love it."

Hermione shook her head, slightly embarrassed. "You flatter me, Hannah. Well, I uh, better be off. I have to go tutor Ancient Runes. Judging by the frightening marks Daisy and Scarlett got on their first Runes test, I am positive they don't fancy me." She rolled her eyes and smirked at Hannah, grabbed her bag, and headed off to the library.

Hermione worked with the girls steadily until lunch, and then grabbed a quick bite and read Transfiguration for an hour. At three, Hermione headed back to her room to get ready for the party. Parvati poked her head in, still wearing her pajamas.

"Hiya," she yawned. "I hadn't slept poorly in ages, but I dreamed of Lavender last night. Awful. I went and saw Carna today. She told me to get a nap. No argument there." Parvati shuffled into Hermione's room.

Hermione gave her a sympathetic smile. "Go grab a shower. I'll get one after; I don't need to wash my hair. Then we can go get dinner and the snacks for tonight."

Parvati nodded fuzzily and headed to their bathroom. Hermione flipped through her closet and pulled out a pair of jeans, some tall brown boots, and started to pull Harry's flannel shirt out, but she decided against it, for some reason not fully formed, instead choosing a soft taupe sweater with long, buttoned cuffs and a tartan wrap in case she got cold. Wrapped in towels, Parvati poked open the door and gave an approving nod to the outfit, leaving the shower open for Hermione.

"How is it that you can look elegant for a bonfire?" Hermione wondered as Parvati came out of her room with a fitted denim top and wool shorts. She'd piled her hair in a bun which looked so casual that it must have taken some time to assemble.

"Most of the time I dress for myself. Tonight, I dress for the look Seamus is going to give me when he sees. So I guess I'm still dressing for myself," Parvati cocked her head and batted her eyes. Hermione snorted. "The question is, Granger, whom are you wearing that outfit for?" Parvati nodded her head at the obvious effort Hermione had made in her appearance.

Hermione grinned, cheekily. "Me."

"Fair enough. Let's go eat."

The girls went down to the Great Hall, missing their other classmates, who had most likely already gone down to the party, which would be set up by the lake. Hermione had given Dean the enormous box of Weasley fireworks, so after a quick meal, the girls headed down to the kitchens, where the house elves had set out large cauldrons of popcorn and bottles of pumpkin juice. Hermione found some small paper bags and scoops for the popcorn, and with some concentrated effort, the two were able to gently levitate the refreshments down to the grounds.

They were the last of the eighth years to arrive; the seventh years were told to come in a half-hour's time, so Hermione and Parvati settled the food and drink in a suitable spot and checked to see if anything needed doing. The fire was massive and crackling merrily; Hermione could see that Neville was back and had pulled Hannah close to him for a quick kiss. Susan set out a large, chipped, willoware vase with several dozen wooden sticks, carefully sharpened to points. She was pouring bags of marshmallows into a small cauldron.

Hermione approached her, "That looks great, Susan. Can we help with anything?"

"Nope, there isn't much to do. Simple, really. Oh, Anthony did want a word, with you though, Hermione."

Hermione nodded and walked over to a large tub of ice with butterbeers. Parvati was adding bottles of pumpkin juice to the ice, but waved off Hermione's offer for help. She found Anthony chatting with Justin and Seamus.

"Hello, Justin! It is wonderful to see you!" Hermione hugged Justin, and he smiled broadly.

"Hermione! Beautiful as ever. I'm so glad to see you all." Justin threw his arm around Anthony and looked around, smiling. "We saw Ron in Hogsmeade today."

"Actually, Hermione, that is what I wanted to talk to you about," said Anthony, gently removing Justin's arm and pulling Hermione away slightly. "We saw Ron, and he asked what our plans were for the evening, and Justin didn't know about, well, he didn't know, and he said that he thought he'd see him up at the castle with you. It was all a bit awkward, and I do apologize if I made it that way, but Ron said he wanted to see everyone, and so we sort of had to, well...I hope that is fine." Anthony said, wincing.

"Oh." Hermione smoothed her face into a smile. "Well, of course that is fine. Ron is my friend, and I would love to see him, and I know everyone else will, too." She looked around at the group finishing up their tasks and spied Draco, who was sorting stacks of records with Dean. He glanced up briefly and found her looking at him, and smiled, giving a small wave.

"Well, that makes me feel loads better." Anthony squeezed her arm and went back to Justin, who pulled him close again, still involved in an animated conversation with Seamus. Hermione drew in a deep breath and walked over to Dean and Draco.

"Hi!" She grinned brightly, trying to erase her nerves at Anthony's news.

"Hey, Hermione," smiled Dean. He and Draco both made her wonder if boys ever put as much thought into clothes as she and Parvati just had, for if they did, it would be dangerous. Dean was wearing a flannel shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots; Draco, a navy Henley shirt, jeans, and a pair of chukkas, and Hermione thought they both looked painfully handsome. It wasn't helping her nerves. She picked up a record and pretended to study it. Being Muggleborn meant she had been exposed to all sorts of music, but she wasn't passionate about it, and she'd never heard of the wizard band on the cover, Petra and the Puffskeins. She let the boys' banter about the merits of various albums and tracks wash over her, until a hand gently pried the record from hers. Draco had moved very close to her, and he was watching her with a slight smile. "Do you want me to start with this one?"

"Oh, I really don't know. I suppose that is your job?" She smiled up at him, and he grinned.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" he said, smoothly. Hermione wondered if he could sense her nerves, because at this moment, he was behaving much like Crookshanks when he'd cornered a mouse. "I suppose we will start with some music to set the tone. Then we will play some hits they will like, to get them dancing. Some old favorites, some new ones with a beat that will keep them moving. Then, I suppose we will have to pull out some slower ones. Because they will want to be dancing closer. It might be cold." Draco had somehow moved even nearer to Hermione, and he was holding her in his gaze. She found herself quite unable to look away. "Then, we will definitely play some love songs. For the girls to remember tomorrow. Dean and I are going to work together, so I don't have to be behind the turntables the whole time. Maybe I will even get up the nerve to ask a girl to dance."

"I'm sure there are a lot of girls here who would like that very much."

"I'm not really interested in a lot of girls. Just the one."

Hermione bit her lip. Just then, a rowdy pile of seventh-year Gryffindors came thudding into the clearing and startled her. She turned back to Draco, who shot them a filthy look over her shoulder, looked down and winked at her, and then stepped back to Dean and the music.

Hermione started scooping popcorn into little bags and handing them out to students who wanted a snack with their butterbeer. The party was casual and lively; a Hufflepuff boy was leading a pack of Slytherins in a ridiculous, shoulder-wiggling dance that was sending the younger Gryffindor girls into peals of giggles. Susan, Hannah and Parvati were able to stand together with Hermione by the popcorn and gossip harmlessly about the various seventh-years and their reported love interests, chuckling with glee when Maisie Armstrong, a sixth-year Ravenclaw about whom they had just been wondering, grabbed, as predicted by Parvati, the hand of Balthazar Lewis and swung him into a dance. Someone had conjured thick bubbles the size of beach balls, and the pack of students punched them aloft with their wands to the beat of the music.

Draco and Seamus wandered over to the girls, bringing Neville and a seventh-year in tow. Seamus teased, "Lame. Put down the serving scoops, wallflowers. Let's dance." The group took to the center of clearing nearer the music and began dancing to a fast song. Seamus and Draco turned out to be excellent dancers, and Hermione was thoroughly enjoying learning some new dance moves from her willing teachers. They danced through several songs, until Draco touched her arm to gesture that he was going to go relieve Dean. Hermione wandered over by the drinks and helped herself to a cold bottle of pumpkin juice. She was fiddling with the stuck twist cap considering what spell would open it with the least spillage when she heard someone close.

"Hermione."

Hermione looked up to see Ron Weasley in front of her, smiling shyly.

"Ron." Hermione smiled fondly at him and gave him a hug and a chaste peck on the cheek, which he returned, gently. He had grown the stubble of a beard, and was wearing casual clothing under his Auror traveling cloak.

Ron looked around and grinned. "If this is the kind of thing you lot have been getting up to, I am wondering why I decided to become an Auror instead."

"I've always wondered about that, Ron."

He looked like he wanted to argue a point, and then thought better of it. "You look nice. Did you do something with your hair?"

"Yes, thanks," she said, steering the subject away to other things. "So what brings you to Hogsmeade?"

The pair talked pleasantly, acknowledging only a faint air of awkwardness. To everyone around them, Ron and Hermione looked like old friends who were comfortably catching up. To Hermione, it felt lonely and distant, and though she was still very fond of Ron Weasley, she was realizing that his friendship would be forever different from anything else they used to have together. Seamus approached them, and sensing he wasn't disturbing anything intimate, he joined the pair, to Hermione's relief. Even though the conversation turned to the Harpies' playoff potential and next year's World Cup, it was better to be withdrawn from a conversation than to be expected to carry it. She stood there, nursing her bottle of juice, barely listening to the boys, watching the dancing crowd and Dean nodding his head to the beat, shuffling through the crate of records.

Draco sidled over to Hermione, a knowing smile on his face. "Have you finished giving all your predictions for Bulgaria's team this year, Hermione?" She smirked and batted his arm gently. Ron, unfortunately reminded of Viktor Crum and seeing Draco Malfoy to boot in front of him, squared his shoulders and crossed his arms. Ignoring their playful tone entirely, he turned to Draco.

"Why don't you leave her be, Malfoy?"

"Ron! Where is this coming from? He's my friend!" Hermione gasped. Truthfully, Ron had not come across Draco once since the trials, and perhaps no one had told him of Draco's recovery at St. Mungo's, or his slow befriending of his former enemies at Hogwarts. But Hermione was thrown by Ron's venom. It was as if he was pouring all the awkwardness from their lost relationship into a targeted arrow pointed at Draco Malfoy, an irrational move which would have seemed reasonable four years ago, but now was jarringly discordant with her new peace here.

"Friend?" Ron questioned her, pointedly. "I think a round of forced apologies doesn't make you his friend. Where's my apology, Malfoy?"

At this, Seamus turned to Ron to cut him off. Draco, however, put an arm on Seamus' shoulder to stop him. As tall as Ron, Draco looked him steadily in the eye, gathering himself. He gave Ron an oddly thoughtful look.

"Well, first things first, Weasley. No one forced me to apologize to anyone. Didn't your mother teach you that a good apology needs to be meant?" Draco asked, calmly. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut at his mention of Ron's mother. She felt a lump in her stomach. He continued, before Ron could move to hit him, "Ron, I am sorry, though, for making fun of you for being poor. It hit too close to home, and I knew it. It's not something you could have helped, and it isn't something to be ashamed of, either." Ron looked stunned, and Seamus and Hermione shared wary looks. Seamus relaxed as he believed Draco and felt Ron has been disarmed, but Hermione knew Ron, and figured he would be waiting for the barb to come. She was right, for Ron's anger flushed at the thought of Draco getting the better of him in a secret joke he was not in on.

Ron snarled, "That's it, then? You aren't sorry for anything else? No? You aren't going to apologize for that bloody song?"

Now Draco, it seemed, to Hermione, had taken the mantle of peacekeeping off his shoulders and let it breeze gently to the ground. He looked at Ron, coolly.

"I'm afraid I can't recall what song you mean, Weasley," he said, smoothly, with a hint of his childlike sneer playing at his mouth.

Hermione went to stop Ron with his hand, but he shook her off, striding boldly into a trap of his own making.

"_Weasley Is Our King_?" Ron spat.

"Oh, that." Draco smiled fondly as though remembering a cherished family pet. "No. No, I can't apologize for that. It was poetry, and even a, how did you phrase it earlier, Ron, a _neutered lunatic_ has his limits. If you will excuse me, I need to get back to the asylum." He turned and strode quickly off to the castle.

A heavy silence blanketed their little group. Hermione looked away from Ron and realized that Neville and Hannah had joined them, looking shocked.

"I didn't think he heard me say that!" Ron looked furious; Hermione suspected mostly with himself, but he was still terribly angry at Draco, by the looks of it. "Seamus," he jerked his head toward his sandy-haired friend who was clenching his jaw, "already told me off. It was a really poor choice of words. But Malfoy was winding me up!"

"Yes, Ron. But you started it. He has worked really hard to become our friend. And he'd already heard you talking about him like that! Half of us see the Healer here! You said you had nightmares, too! It's not on!" Seamus shook his head at his friend, still angry, trying to make him understand.

"Merlin. I better go apologize to him. Git." Ron started to walk away, but Hermione stopped him, blocking the path.

"No. You will not go find him. If you feel you need to apologize, you will send him an owl. You need to go, now." Hermione looked sad, but resolute.

"Hermione, this isn't about you. I put my foot in my mouth, but this isn't about you." Ron pleaded, softly.

"It is. It really is. I'll talk to you soon, Ron. But you need to go. Now."

Hermione wanted to run after Draco, but knew he wouldn't want to be followed, not yet. She turned and walked over to Dean, offering her help so he could go dance. She didn't want to watch Ron leave. Dean helped her put on a record of slow, wistful music, and she smiled to herself as she watched him scoop up Susan into his arms. She checked the length of the record and then went to clean up popcorn bags and bottles, handing out sticks to those huddled near the fire. Parvati greeted Seamus with a small kiss, and he bent over her, talking softly. Hermione could see Parvati frown, and she walked over to Hermione, who was still distracting herself with little, needless tasks.

"Arse," Parvati hissed.

"Today, yes. Quite." Hermione murmured, focusing on vanishing the empty bottles with her wand.

"You're going to go find him, yeah?" Parvati looked up at the castle, with a concerned expression.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. In a bit. Let him cool off. After the fireworks." Hermione had learned, with two boys as childhood best friends, that it was best to let people have some time to themselves after a fight. "We all are growing up a bit, aren't we? Seamus is a good friend, isn't he, Parvati?" Hermione looked up at her friend. Parvati beamed.

"Yes, we are. And yes, he is. I'm glad we are here."

"Me, too."

Neville had stopped feeding the fire for some time, and it burned down to a glow just bright enough for the students to see by. Dean packed up the music, and she and Parvati and Susan pulled the fireworks out and set them alight with their wands, pointing them towards the lake. The explosions were riots of colour, and Hermione was thinking of Draco, and feeling disappointed that he wasn't here to see the pops of light dance in the rippled reflection of the lake. She walked over to Parvati and gestured up toward the castle. Parvati nodded and squeezed her hand.

Hermione stared at the door plaque marked _D. Malfoy_. She could hear the thump of base, and another rhythmic noise layered over it. She had to knock twice before the they both stopped, first one, then the other. Several moments passed and then Draco opened the door. He had been boxing; his gloves were discarded on the floor by the leather punching bag. He had changed into shorts and trainers; he was without a shirt, something which Hermione was not too concerned about him to miss. She stared at him. He couldn't seem to bear to look at her, focusing at a distant point off her shoulder. He took two rapid breaths and then spoke.

"Look, I can't bear it if you came up here to apologize for him. If you want me to not be mad at him for you. Please just go."

Hermione shook her head slowly. She took a step forward and put her hands on his bare shoulders. They were hot and damp. She felt him shiver.

"No. No. He...that...tonight...isn't why I am here. Not about that."

She pulled her head up to his ear, and without thinking, he bent down to hers.

"I forgive you," she whispered. She kissed him softly on the cheek, turned, and walked away.


	19. Alarte Ascendare

Ron's unfortunate appearance aside, Hermione was thrilled with the result of the seventh-year bonfire. The professors each pulled them aside in class or in the corridors to thank them for promoting socializing amongst the houses, and they suggested that the bonfire may become a tradition for the eldest students of Hogwarts. Hermione and her friends had fun, and she was privately pleased to have seen Draco show such restraint when baited by Ron. She was fairly certain that if roles had been reversed, Ron would have pummeled Draco instead of an inert leather bag.

Her relationship with Draco did not appear, to any witnesses, to be different; they continued to study in their groups, share the occasional meal in the Great Hall, and meet up for drinks with their friends in Hogsmeade. If their classmates had not been playing close attention, they might not notice that as Hermione entered the Great Hall for breakfast, Draco, if he happened to be there, would pour her a cup of black tea and set it quietly opposite him. Nor might they see Hermione leave a beautiful book mid-paragraph at Flourish and Blotts to meet Draco at the florist to select flowers for Madam Rosemerta before joining up with the rest at The Three Broomsticks.

But Parvati was paying attention, and one evening in mid-December, she joined Hermione before the fire in the Griffindor common room. Hermione was staring at the dancing yellow flames, a blue scarf, half-knitted, resting in her lap.

"You know, now, who's in your Amortentia, don't you?"

Hermione turned her head to Parvati with an evasiveness cloaked in innocence. "We haven't had time to brew another one. I think the girls got some sixth-years to make them one last weekend."

"You know, Hermione."

"And?"

"And I don't know quite how you feel about it. But if you are wondering about what your friends would think, if it matters at all to you, they will approve."

Hermione nodded, slowly. "That's kind of you. But I'm not sure there is anything to approve. Ron moved as slowly, and that turned out well," she smiled ruefully. "I'm not sure what he wants. Divination was never a strength of mine."

Parvati laughed softly. "Too true. Well, you might find out. McGonagall pulled me aside in the Charms corridor. She was so pleased with that party, she and Flitwick are planning another Yule Ball before Christmas. Notice is going up tomorrow. So ask him."

Hermione made a face, but Parvati didn't relent. She looked up. "Lavender, she can break into Gringotts, but she can't ask a boy to a school dance." Parvati turned back to Hermione. "Look, I'll ask Seamus before he asks me if it helps."

Hermione smirked, "You are going to have to Silencio Seamus to stop him."

"You are right. I am amazing," Parvati chuckled.

Hermione snorted. "Of course."

Parvati yawned. "I'm going to check on the third-year dormitory. Scarlett's been having a hard time falling asleep. She's missing her brother. Better now than having her knock on my door at midnight."

Hermione nodded and caught Parvati's contagious yawn. Gathering up her knitting, she turned out of the common room to the set of Griffindor rooms beyond the portrait of the snoozing Fat Lady. Draco was sitting with his back to her door, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He was lazily playing with a snitch. Hermione watched him toss it and effortlessly pick it from the air twice before he noticed her.

"Hey, there."

"Hey," Draco smiled, stiffly getting to his feet and brushing off some imaginary dust. "It occurred to me, as I was waiting for you, that it must have been difficult for Potter and the Weasel to have a girl for a best friend. You were obviously living in the library," he smirked as he saw her roll her eyes, "but if you were in the dormitories, they wouldn't know to stop looking. How did Harry always seem to know where you were? Did you use those coins?"

"His father made a magical map of Hogwarts. He knew where everyone was. Even you." She raised her eyebrows, cheekily.

Draco looked incredulous. "That git! Everyone just thought he was dead clever!"

"Harry is clever."

"To have chosen you as a friend to sort it all out for him, yes."

Hermione grinned, knowing that Harry would want her to wind him up a bit. "He also had a true invisibility cloak. That was his father's, too. He used it to move around the castle with the map."

Draco grimaced. "Yes, I did know about the cloak. I suppose it's better that Potter had it than say, Dean. He'd just have used it for shagging."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "And what about you?"

"Well, it's probably best I didn't have it either. But for different reasons." Draco ran his hands through his tousled hair. Hermione wondered what that felt like.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting."

"Ah, yes. That. No, you weren't expecting me. After I stopped wondering about Potter's seemingly endless superpowers, I did some meditating. But I didn't come to tell you about that. Slughorn told me there's to be another Yule Ball."

Hermione was hoping she wasn't going to have to be brave without a little warning. "Yes, I heard."

Draco nodded, smiling softly at her. "You know, when Neville and I first started to talk in the kitchens, he told me about going into hiding in the Room of Hidden Things. To keep sane, they'd talk about what they would do when they could leave. He asked me what I would have said. I had a few things...Some I will never be able to do, but there is one you might be able to help me out with." Draco suddenly looked very young, his hands jammed in his chinos, his foot smoothing out a lump in the stone floor. He looked up at Hermione and smiled cautiously, "Will you go? With me? I didn't get a proper dance with you on Saturday."

Hermione paused briefly, not to consider an answer, but to savor it.

"Yes. You didn't give me a chance to be a true Gryffindor and ask you first, though."

Draco gave her a surprised smile. "Well, I had to be a Slytherin and get to you before Jamie Campbell did. Easier than having to hex him."

Hermione huffed, "You, too! I'm starting to wonder about my cleverness!"

Draco pulled a face and shook his head. "Ah, I prefer you oblivious. You'd be deadly otherwise. I caught you on the way to bed, didn't I? Best get to it." He gave her a nod, and then on an impulse, quickly leaned down and gave her a soft, brief peck on her cheek, at the very edge of her mouth. Hermione closed her eyes, breathing him in, and when she opened them, Draco had turned, hands still jammed in his pockets, striding off down the hall, the snitch sailing behind in his wake.


	20. Avis

Hermione had a difficult time falling asleep, but for the first time in a very long while, it was for a happy reason. Her fatigue upon waking the next morning was voided by an excitement that she once may have dismissed as silly, girlish giddiness, but now, she reveled in it.

She showered and dressed, and waited until she heard Parvati stir before she knocked at her door between their bathrooms. As she knocked, she suddenly remembered Parvati had gone to check on one of their girls - it may have been a long night for her.

Parvati swung the door open. "Well? Don't disappoint, Granger!"

Hermione grimaced. "First, did you stay up half the night with Scarlett? I'm telling her to knock on my door next time."

Parvati smiled a sleepy smile. "Nah. It was sweet, actually. I told her a funny story about Lavender and her first attempt at a glamour charm, and she fell asleep. It was good for both of us. Are you changing the subject?"

Hermione grinned. "He asked me. Before Jamie Campbell could, he said."

Parvati smiled excitedly and then composed her face in a contemplative expression. "Oooh. Excellent point. He certainly will today."

"Seriously? You, too!" Hermione was starting to wonder if she owed Trelawney an apology. That would take all the Gryffindor in her.

"Well, anyway, we need to go shopping for dresses this weekend."

"Dresses? You asked Seamus, then?"

"A Patil is a woman of her word. But you were right. I did have to hex his mouth shut to stop him from asking me first." She made a face. "He may have liked it; perhaps a door I shouldn't have opened..."

"Merlin, Parvati, please stop."

Parvati chuckled. "Well, was it adorable?"

Hermione blushed. "I'm happy."

Parvati smiled. "I like seeing you happy. Now get out of the bathroom. I have to pee."

"Again, too much. I'll see you later."

Hermione entered the Great Hall, grabbing tea and toast, and waved to Anthony who was chatting animatedly with a group of Ravenclaws. She gulped down her breakfast, and then left for the library to look up an Ancient Runes book. It was in the library that she was cornered by Jamie, who didn't appear to have any books with him at all. She put on a bright face.

"Ah, Jamie, hello! Look, I really need to talk to you..."

"As do I, Hermione. Say..."

"...about Arithmancy..."

"May I ask you something first. See, I was wondering..."

"I am so sorry, Jamie," Hermione's tone raised loudly enough for Madam Pince to shoot her a nasty look, but it gave her the floor. "I am going to be awfully late for Slughorn. You see, I am so proud of you and how hard you are working, and I just don't think you need a tutor anymore. You are doing beautifully. We don't need to meet this weekend, and that is good, because I have to go buy a dress for the ball. I'm booked up this weekend. You should ask someone to go with you to the ball, soon. Someone as handsome and funny as you needs a date. I think Rosaline Mills has been watching us when we study, and I don't think it's me she fancies. Anyway, I best be off! Good luck!"

Jamie was left, blinking in confusion, as Hermione sped out of the library without having looked for her book, moving so quickly that she missed Draco peeling off the wall at the entrance to join her.

He bent down and murmured in her ear, "That was thoughtful of you. If he plays it right, it won't occur to him that he got the brush off until he is lip-locked with Mills, and then he won't care. See, you do pay attention!" He grinned at her start of surprise and nudged her arm gently with his elbow.

She smiled shyly at him. "I just made that up. I have no idea who fancies whom. Rosaline, as you might say, 'lives in the library.' She is very shy and very pretty. I'm positive she will say yes, and as he thinks she fancies him now, he will definitely ask her today."

Draco looked at her admiringly. "Are you sure the Sorting Hat got you right?"

"Well, I thought that was a chivalrous move worthy of Gryffindor, but it did want me in Ravenclaw."

"Hmm. I believe that, too. Well, this is me." Draco gestured to the Arithmancy classroom. Hermione waved and made her way down to Potions.

Only Seamus and Dean were joining her for the seventh-year potions class with the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs. They had presumably already been filled in on the gossip from Parvati, and the moment Slughorn had set them their task, they turned as one on Hermione.

"Malfoy, huh?" said Seamus. "You know, I want to say I never thought I'd see the day, but I think post-war, post-git Malfoy is an interesting pairing with post-war, post-Weasley Granger. What say you?" Seamus asked Dean.

Dean winked at Hermione. "I think we are all just trying to find a little happiness, Finnegan. I, um, asked Susan to the ball."

Seamus almost trimmed the tip of his finger with his silver knife. "I didn't know you held a torch for Susan."

"Well, I don't know, either. She's just good to talk to, you know? I liked dancing with her at the bonfire. I mean, I asked her to dance that night so she'd stop fussing with those bloody toasting sticks, but it was nice. She's pretty." Dean shrugged.

"Good enough," Seamus chuckled. "You are skint, though. How are you buying dress robes? Or a suit?"

"Harry owled me about Ted Tonks. Wanted to know if I'd write some things down about him for Teddy, when he's older. Meant a lot to Harry when people talked about his parents. We're the same size, more or less. Asked him if he'd loan me something."

Hermione thought of Draco's last mention of Dean and smiled. "Just borrow the robes. No cloaks, visible or invisible."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Anyway," Dean said slowly, eyeing Hermione a bit longer with a questioning look, "all of us eighth-years are going together. Should be fun."

Hermione smiled and bent down over her cauldron before Slughorn could chide them for setting a poor example for their younger classmates. The rest of the class passed pleasantly; Hermione brewed what she was certain was a perfect dreamless sleep potion, though she'd never taken it, so she couldn't be sure. They were highly addictive, and Carna, among others, frowned on them. She corked the bottle and walked it to her professor's desk, where she spied another cauldron of Amortentia bubbling away. Without a glance back, she leaned in and breathed the vapour, which sent a sharp thrill of pleasure through her, heightened by knowing now whom she was smelling.

She floated to lunch still feeling delightfully tingly, and happily pulled a steaming bowl of leek soup towards her, when an owl swooped over her. Protecting her soup with one hand, she untied the message and sent the owl on its way. It was odd; most of the post came at breakfast. Scowling slightly, Hermione opened the note addressed by her mother.

_ Dear Hermione,_

_ We have just decided, your father and I, to take a trip to Australia at Christmas. We miss the sun, and we found a delightful deal on flights if we leave on Christmas Day. We'd still like to see you and celebrate on Christmas Eve or before; do let us know of your change in plans as you are able. _

_ Mum_

Hermione stared at the note without blinking for several moments. She let it slip out of her fingers, and she cradled her head in her hands, the flush of Amortentia unable to fight the hard lump forming in her throat. She heard the paper scrape over the table slowly as someone pulled it away and smoothed it flat to read. She didn't look up to stop it, but curiosity did get the better of her, and she looked up to see Draco and Neville sitting opposite her.

Draco was studying the note, his brow furrowing. Scanning Hermione's face, he slid it over to Neville, who read it with raised eyebrows. Hermione blinked back tears.

Neville spoke first. "I suppose this isn't normal?"

Hermione shook her head and spoke in a low, soft voice. "No. Maybe I should have expected this. I used to leave them on their holidays all the time to go off with Harry and Ron. I guess I didn't think about it then. But that isn't why they'd do this. It's...my memory charms. They got back all of their thoughts, but Carna, and some Healers at St. Mungo's from Spell Damage wonder if...I may have permanently erased their feelings. About me." She looked at Neville apologetically. "They are alive, and healthy, and they have jobs and lives. They know me. It's not something for me to be carrying on about. It's what I wanted," she said, in a whisper.

Neville shook his head and stared out a window of the Great Hall. "Your parents have all their thoughts and lost their feelings for you. My parents have all their feelings and lost their thoughts." He looked at Hermione, sadly. "I am sorry."

Draco nodded. "I think Neville would agree that we aren't trying to compete for the House Cup with our war stories, Hermione. If it makes you sad, it's sad. And it isn't what you wanted."

Neville picked up Hermione's hand and held it, rubbing her knuckles softly with his calloused thumb. She swallowed, hard. "Ron and Harry were so sympathetic, but they never really understood. Harry has never known a life with his parents, and Ron can't imagine a life without his. I almost was able to convince myself it wasn't a loss. Thank you." Hermione nodded at them both.

Neville got up and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "Gotta go help Professor Sprout with the Mandrakes. They are getting feisty. Take Hannah with you shopping this weekend. Convince her to buy the dress she likes the most, even if she balks a bit at the cost." Neville waved at them both and left the table.

Draco sat, his head tilted slightly, considering Hermione. "My mother would be appalled at my forwardness and total lack of manners, but I'd like to invite myself to your parents' house, when you go."

Hermione blinked at him. "I couldn't possibly ask you to; I am sure you have your holiday arranged. Why would you want to do that?"

Draco set his jaw. "We can discuss my holiday plans another time. But I would like to go with you. Someone should. I don't want to make it harder on you, but I don't think that will be the case. I think you are going to be terribly lonely, and I would like to be there. Think about it if you want."

Hermione blinked rapidly. "I wouldn't know what thoughts to think. I don't even know, anymore."

Draco gave a firm nod. "Well, that is settled, then. Let me know when we plan to leave so I don't show up empty-handed."

Hermione nodded, slowly. "Why are you being so kind to me about this? It's rather a lot, coming with me."

Draco smiled. "Well, unlike Harry, and Ron..." Draco looked distracted, as though he were sifting through various thoughts and discarding several, "Neville, and I...may have a better understanding of this."

Hermione looked at her glass of pumpkin juice. "Ron came with me to find them. It took some doing; they weren't easy to find. I had to talk to the Australian Ministry. I was...a mess. It's one of the reasons I will always love him, as a friend. I will never forget it."

Draco nodded. "That is what friends are for. I bet if you owled him today and asked him to go back with you, he would. But you wouldn't, would you?"

Hermione shook her head and looked at the charmed ceiling of the hall. "No," she whispered.

Draco whispered back, "I hope you don't think it's awful that I am glad of that."


	21. Imperio

The threat of NEWTs and OWLs long past, Hermione and her peers diligently paced their way through the rest of the week's classes. Living without the protection of Hogwarts or family gave several of them an acute awareness of which magical skills and knowledge were lacking. Hermione wondered, after spending months on the run, how Mrs. Weasley managed all of her magical cooking, even with a house and a stove. She and Parvati mulled it over once in the library.

"Well," Parvati recalled, "Neville and Seamus became quite good at keeping a steady fire for cooking. It's tricky magic to un-char food while keeping it warm. Best avoided." She winced.

"I wonder if Hogwarts should have a practical household class. I shredded my clothes with cleaning charms."

Parvati waved her off. 'There's really no time in the schedule. You know, maybe we should take a small group camping. It's an outing for them, and they could learn loads of practical skills."

"Oh," sighed Hermione, " I just don't know if I can, yet, ever. I'm still excited by warm baths and not smelling of smoke. So's Dean. He didn't want anything to do with that bonfire at first."

Parvati nodded. "I can imagine. I still think it's a good idea. No one needs to teach them how to hide, anymore, although we could teach warding spells. For Defense class. Maybe I'll talk to Seamus."

"I would write a list of necessary skills, and I'd write lessons for them, but I just don't know if I could go camping ever again." Hermione shivered, thinking about her long, lonely turns keeping watch in the snow.

Friday night was bleak outside, but inside the castle it was cosy and merry. Hermione brought Susan, Hannah, and Parvati into her room for tea and gossip. Susan had wondered if they shouldn't plan something small for the girls, but Parvati reasoned that, unless they allowed seventh years to return next year, the students needed plenty of time to learn to sort out their own entertainment. Hermione had, amongst them all, spent the most time tutoring; she secretly wondered if the lack of competency of some students due to their sporadic schooling combined with the professors' gratitude at having them around might result in another crop of "eighth years." But Parvati was correct; they did need a weekend off.

Hermione was lounging on her bed with Parvati. Hannah had curled up in the squashy chair in Hermione's room, and Susan had transfigured Hermione's wooden desk chair into its squashy twin. The four were picking their way through a large box of petits fours and macarons sent by Susan's Beauxbatons cousin.

"Honestly, I don't know how Fleur could go on about _'zee fattening 'Ogwarts food_ when she had regular access to these in her village." Hermione picked up a chocolate ganache macaron and took a little bite, lazily levitating a squat, flowered teapot to refill everyone's cups.

Susan nodded. "So, how's Harry?"

"He's fine. The only way he uses his fame is to be intimidating with the press that want to hound him, so that is good for Ginny and the Weasleys. They are just adjusting. Like everyone, I guess, but Harry's been grieving since he came to Hogwarts. He and Ginny are enjoying their freedom, in many ways, but they will get married someday. Not just yet, though. They still have some thrill-seeking to get out of their systems, even though they would deny it. They've never been able to really do what they want to. Sometimes it's good to be a bit selfish."

Hannah murmured in agreement. "Nev's been grieving for years, too. He was so kind when I was having a hard time about Mum. He's just ready to be happy. For him, it's the little things." She paused, stirring her tea absently. "My mother's cousin is Tom, from the Leaky Cauldron. He just sent me an owl. Wants me to visit to talk about taking it over. I'm thinking I am going to say yes. Nev thinks I should. He wants to teach here when Sprout decides to retire. Before the war, I never thought about being settled at twenty. Now it doesn't sound that crazy at all. It sounds perfect."

Parvati, Hermione, and Susan appreciated the sentiment, but it didn't stop each of them from thinking Hannah was thoroughly more grown up than they wanted to be just yet. Hermione and Parvati both regretted the loss of precious years of youth, and they weren't interested in hastening its demise beyond the realistic transition from school to career. Still, they loved Neville, and Hannah, and it was hard to not be charmed by their obvious love for each other.

Hermione said, "Neville says it's my job to make you buy the dress you fancy. So don't get me into trouble, please."

Susan smiled. "I'm happy to be buying one. I'm glad Dean asked me. He's a laugh."

In unison, Hermione and Parvati added, "And gorgeous."

Susan smirked. "I could have done worse. Hermione, did you hear Jamie Campbell is going with Rosaline Mills? I saw her in Ancient Runes, and she said she's fancied him for ages, but he'd never acted like he noticed her before.

Hermione choked on the last bite of her macaron, "Did...she...now?" Parvati gave her a playful smile and whacked her on the back.

"Oh, and here's a thing, Rosaline was talking with her mum in the common room fire. About the dance. We were trying to ignore her; you can't help but eavesdrop on fireside chats, but this one was so dull. But then," Susan scooted up in her chair slightly, leaning in for effect, "her mum said she was chatting about Rosaline and the Yule Ball in the Auror office with some of her colleagues, and Harry Potter and Ron Weasley overheard, and they were very interested in hearing about your date, Hermione." Susan raised her eyebrows pointedly and licked icing off her fingers.

Parvati drawled, "Oh, I just bet they were. Do you know how hard Viktor Krum had to work to get around those two?"

Hermione whipped her head toward Parvati. "How hard? How hard? You were surprised as anyone about that, as I recall it!"

Parvati shrugged. "You aren't the only one who loves to dig into a mystery. I just didn't have to go to the Restricted Section to do it."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose to stall the ghost of a very real headache. "I can handle them. Though sometimes, I miss being an only child."

Her three friends snickered.

After further discussion concerning a boy in Transfiguration whose dating hopes were forever ruined by his aggressive nose picking, Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, Trelawney's brave recovery from alcoholism, Potions theory as applied to a batch of expired Felix Felicis, the various ways Susan should wear her hair, and everyone's favourite Puffskein colour, Hermione waved off a house elf carrying a dustpan, and the girls tidied up her room and tucked themselves into bed.

The next morning, Hermione had forgotten much of Susan's seemingly endless stores of gossip until Harry's owl Fawkes nudged her shoulder at breakfast. She sighed, gave the owl a small bit of sausage and opened the parchment he delivered.

_Hermione,_

_ Ron has more complicated feelings on this matter than I do, but he is understandably wary to write them down. Malfoy? It's not like you announced your engagement, but if you are under the Imperius, I will be able to tell in your reply._

_ We love you,_

_H &amp; R_

Hermione stalled Harry's owl with another bit of sausage, and rummaged in her bag for a quill.

_Harry and Ronald,_

_ Draco would be the first to tell you Imperiuses aren't funny. Harry, would you have judged all that your father was by Snape's memories?_

_ I love you both more than you know,_

_ H_

Hermione petted Fawkes, reminding herself not to be grumpy with the messenger. She finished her toast, waving the owl off to Harry. Harry did have a small point, and Hermione sat for a moment, sipping her tea and looking out the window, wondering about the chain of little moments that led her here, heading off to buy a dress to wear dancing with Draco Malfoy.


	22. Levicorpus

Hermione had two thoughts occur to her at once while standing in front of the mirror at the dress shop. The first was that Draco was quite correct; her favorite colour was blue, and this dress was a beautiful shade of it, a steely shade of ice. The second was that it had not escaped her notice that she, more than once of late, had referenced Draco's perceptions or thoughts about various topics, from the correct cauldron size for a blood-replenishing potion to now, her favourite colour.

She pivoted and flicked her eyes over her shoulder, checking the back of the dress. It was just above the knee in front, with a full skirt that fell long behind her in thick folds. Her tiny waist was framed with a wide sash, and the bodice was sleeveless and cut in a daring _V_. The whole of it was crusted with silvery crystal beading that sparkled like snow.

Parvati and Susan had both quickly settled on delicate velvet gowns, Parvati's black and Susan's a lush, Gryffindor red. As Neville had foreseen, Hannah orbited carefully around a vintage flapper dress the colour of champagne, the beading shimmering warmly even in the stark midday winter sun streaming through the shop window. She made no move to pick it up.

"It's expensive for just a school dance," worried Hannah.

"Can you afford it?" asked Hermione, sensibly.

"Well, sure, but..."

Hermione plucked it from the rack and pushed the dress into Hannah's arms and Hannah into a changing room. As Hermione had suspected, the dress glowed on Hannah, and she could only manage a feeble, mumbling question of a protest when she saw herself in the mirror.

Hermione was pleased with her dress and delighted to see her beautiful friends in theirs, but she had a task weighing on her mind, and she was craving returning to the castle. She excused herself from lunch in Hogsmeade, and walked swiftly back, levitating her boxed dress and silver shoes carefully in front of her. Picking her way up the frozen path past the greenhouses, she saw Neville scrubbing pots outside.

"Hullo there, Neville. I certainly hope you spent some time on those dress robes, because your girlfriend is going to be gorgeous."

Neville grinned. "She always is. Is she happy with her dress?"

"Yes. It's lovely. She's lovely."

Neville looked at the ground and smiled to himself.

He looked up and gave Hermione a decisive nod like he was setting off on a voyage. "Thank you, Hermione." He turned and resumed his wand's attention to the scrubbing of the pots.

Hermione watched him absorbed in his thoughts for a moment, her parcels bobbing gently beside her, and then she continued her path back to her room. With appreciative care, she unpacked and hung up her dress, and unwrapped her shoes. Looking in the mirror, she picked her fingers through her thick curls and pinched her cheeks to retain the blush from the cold.

For lack of a better place to start, she made her way down to the Slytherins, and Draco's room. She knocked and waited, but he appeared to be out. Hermione turned to leave for some lunch when she heard his lock click. Draco was peering out fuzzily at the floor, his hair riotously tousled from sleep. He was wearing a Slytherin green cotton bathrobe embroidered with the house crest.

"Please, what _now_? he whispered, huskily, and then letting his eyes wander up, "Oh!" he started, as he began to attack his hair with his fingers. "Thought you were a kid. Give me a minute." He shut his door, and Hermione could hear drawers scraping open and slamming shut.

He opened the door, and Hermione smiled at the speed of his transformation. He had put on a pair of gray flannel trousers, tailored well but as soft-looking as his robe. He'd combed his hair and tossed on a white button-down shirt, the cuffs of which he was rolling up. He was sporting what looked to be an authentic blush.

"Sorry!" he said, making a face and popping his eyes wide open to look awake. "Come in." Hermione noticed he had hurriedly made his bed and was charmed by it. They sat down on it.

"I am the one who should be sorry! Are you ill? It's lunchtime! You look warm," Hermione's brow furrowed. She leaned over, arm outstretched to feel his still flushed face.

"Ahh, no," Draco grinned, obviously embarrassed now as he stopped her arm and gently pulled it back down. He held it, his thumb over her pulse, and Hermione wondered if this was a kind of Occlumency Harry had neglected to mention. He looked up at her and gave her a small smile. "I haven't had a nightmare in ages. Last night was...bad. I stopped 'round Carna's first thing. Just left her office, well," he blinked at the clock, "two hours ago. I hadn't talked with her in a while. I guess we had some catching up to do." He gave a dark, little laugh.

"I am sorry," Hermione said, full of all the meaning true empathy held.

"Thank you." He studied her wrist.

"I guess you know why you had a nightmare now, when we are getting ready to go back home?"

Draco nodded, his eyes following the path of her blue veins.

Hermione sighed. "This is the worst time, when I just woke you up, but I wanted to come and ask you if you could tell me what your plans for Christmas were? Before you asked to come with me to my parents' I wondered. I was hoping you could tell me now." Hermione felt incredibly nervous, but she couldn't think why.

Draco couldn't pull his eyes from her palm. "I want to say that I can't tell you, because I don't want you to know, or ask. Part of me doesn't even want you to wonder. That's the selfless part of me. It's not that big," he smirked. But I am ace at keeping my own counsel and secrets. I could lie. I could avoid you. I could make you mad so you wouldn't think to care. But Carna says nothing good could come of it. She says people...she says my friends here are stronger and better than I expect. I just spend more time than I deserve feeling sorry for myself. And I don't want you to feel like you should ever feel sorry for me. Because I would really, really hate that. From you." Draco's voice broke off, thick and ragged.

Hermione looked at his thumb still covering a thin, blue vein on her wrist. It felt more intimate than any touch she'd ever had from a boy. "You, Neville, and I have a lot in common, don't we?"

"Yes," he breathed.

"Your father?"

"Curled in on himself. They just let him out of Azkaban. Using up a perfectly miserable cell for nothing. He has no soul to torment. St. Mungo's would take him, I suppose, if Mother would let him go. But they can't help him."

"You mother?"

"Has only enough wits about her to remember to feed and change him. She levitates him and turns him so he doesn't get sores. I hired two house elves and a Squib to see that she doesn't burn down the Manor by accident."

"Is that your Christmas, Draco?"

He nodded dry-eyed and matter-of-factly. "From now on, yes."

Hermione breathed quietly for a few minutes, listening to her breaths and the spaces in between them. She thought about kneeling in his house and wanting to die. And how hard it can be sometimes to get what one wants. She listened and felt and breathed. And at once she felt the bravest she'd ever felt, and she also felt she didn't need to be brave at all. She let this understanding flow through her, like a ripple in a pond.

"I like you, Draco. I like getting to know the person you've become. I'm not afraid of the person you were. I want to know all of you. Not just the parts you want to share with everyone else. When we leave my parents', I want to go to yours. I know it's mad; we have only just become friends, but I feel like it's exactly what I want to do, if you will let me."

Draco dropped her wrist like a glowing ember. "Not you. Not there."

Hermione let this sit for a moment to give it fair consideration. "I'm not afraid, Draco. I can't be more afraid than at night when I am asleep. And I always wake up, even then. I'd like you to trust me not to hate you."

Draco sighed, fatigue and sadness making his normally confident shoulders rounded. He put his elbows on his thighs, palms together, index fingers lightly tapping his lips, thinking.

"Boxing Day, he said, finally.

"What?"

"Boxing Day. I cannot take you to the Manor on Christmas Day. You aren't spending your Christmas there. If you want to come with me, we go on the 26th."

"And Christmas?"

"Let me figure it out."

Hermione took Draco at his word and decided not to mention Christmas again for a few days, other than to tell Draco that she'd owled her parents to say they'd be there on Tuesday evening of the next week. This gave her some time to do some Christmas shopping, something which had never particularly interested her before, but now she found a pleasant distraction. This gave her only three days with her parents, but Hermione was thinking that the only thing more painful than being left by her parents for sunny Australia would by to watch her parents tire of her company, as though she were a distant cousin who had overstayed her welcome.

The professors did not set difficult tasks for the students this week, but Hermione and her friends kept the same pace of reading and revision. She saw Draco one morning approach the Head Table to talk to Professor McGonagall and was intrigued when she saw the stern professor give him a fond smile and nod. This made her happy for reasons she couldn't quite explain. And curious. Draco had a cloak thrown over his arm. She stood, hurriedly, and caught up to him in front of the great wooden entrance hall doors. She pulled him into an alcove to speak with some privacy.

"Is it okay for me to ask what is happening on Christmas Day? I was..."

"Wondering, yes. I would expect so. Festivities, merriment. One usually nibbles at a mince pie or bolts down a plum pudding. There are crackers..." He was waving his hands like he was trying to give poor directions to a lost foreigner.

She giggled and batted his hands away. He smiled, cheekily, and stepped closer to her, pulling his face into a thoughtful expression. "Let me ask you this, is it okay for me to not tell you what you are doing that day? And it is _you;_ you are going one place, and I am going another. I'm dropping you off and picking you up after."

Hermione eyed him shrewdly. "You don't want to tell me because I will object."

"That's right!" he said brightly.

"It must be bad because you seem nervous." She looked at his lower lip, which he was biting slightly, while searching her face.

"No," Draco said, softly. "No, I am just nervous because you are standing awfully close to me."

"Oh," whispered Hermione. "Should I take a step back?"

"Don't you dare," he warned, and he leaned down to kiss her. He caught her lower lip in both of his and closed them, gently. The only thought Hermione could form was that he tasted of cinnamon. And even as she was tasting him, she couldn't get enough of him, his mouth, the feel of his warm hands on her hips. They broke the kiss, and she reached up and kissed him back, sliding her hands from his biceps to his chest, her palm over his heart. He pulled her in closer, cradling her back, and Hermione was glad for it; she felt dizzy with bliss.

He kissed her again, this time a chaste peck of his lips to her forehead, and then he rested his forehead on hers. He murmured, huskily, "I told Hagrid I would help him with Merlin knows what daft thing he's cajoled out of the forest. If I keep him waiting, he'll probably make me bathe it. But I'm telling you, Granger," he paused to catch a rough breath, "now that I know what kissing you properly is like, we are going to be doing a lot more of it."

"Too much talking, Malfoy," and then Hermione put everything she had into a final kiss that left them both unable to do more than swap shy, heated smiles before pulling apart reluctantly to go their separate ways.


	23. Homenum Revelio

Hermione made a point to sleep in on the morning of the ball for no other reason than it just seemed like a luxurious thing to do. She lazed half-awake in bed until she was at real risk of missing breakfast. Throwing on her Kings College tee and her jeans, she pulled her hair into a messy bun and shuffled down to the Great Hall.

She barely made it before the serving dishes began to vanish down to the kitchens. Grabbing toast and a fresh pot of tea, she scooted down the bench to chat with the straggling Gryffindors left. Dennis Creevey was sitting next to Eirwen Jones, her long white-blonde hair shimmering in the late morning light. Hermione remembered the Amortentia party with the girls and smiled to herself.

"Hi, Eirwen, Dennis."

They smiled their hellos. Dennis' Muggle parents were brave to let him back to Hogwarts after his brother's death, Hermione mused. She thought of Colin, with his camera and endless questions, and smiled, sadly. It looked as though Dennis was finding his way, though, as she noticed Eirwen was eating her porridge and holding hands with the boy who had smelled to her in swirling vapour like peppermint.

Dennis looked over at Hermione as though he wanted to fill the silence. "Say, Hermione, I heard you are going to the ball with Draco Malfoy, is that so?" He leaned in like Colin, and Hermione braced herself for a hyper volley of questions.

Hermione smiled. "Yes, it is, Dennis. And I suppose I will see you two there?"

Eirwen blushed wordlessly and Dennis nodded. "Did you see Draco this morning? He was finishing breakfast as we got here. Did you see all the mail he was getting?" Hermione shook her head and he went on, "Quite the scene. He was covered in owls. I'm not sure I've seen anything quite like it other than when Harry would show up in the news. I didn't see any Malfoys in the papers this week, though. Do you have any idea what it was about? He seemed chuffed by it all, so it couldn't have been bad press."

Hermione shrugged, curious but not nearly as much as Dennis appeared to be. Being friends with Harry cured her of cultivating any interest in puzzling out gossip. She supposed if it mattered to her, she'd hear about it from him eventually. She nibbled on her toast and made her way steadily through the pot of tea, trying not to keep the house elves waiting too long on her dishes. Dennis chatted cheerfully with her and Eirwen, and Hermione noticed that like her, Eirwen seemed to appreciate not having to do the heavy lifting in this conversation. She had forgotten what Eirwen's voice sounded like. She wondered if Dennis knew.

Hermione stood, sipping the last gulp of tea and made her goodbyes to Eirwen and Dennis. Normally she would put on her gym kit and go for a run or see if Carna wanted to practice yoga, but today, Hermione was feeling completely slothful. It was absolutely foreign to her, but today it suited. She wandered up to the library and found a book she'd been interested in reading, and seeing no one of interest to her, she went back to the Gryffindor common room to read. She fell asleep in front of the fire and missed lunch, but she felt so relaxed that she was happy to swap lunch for an early supper before getting ready. Parvati found her draped over a leather wingback chair, and dragged Hermione to the Great Hall for some fortifying shepherd's pie. One meal, two baths, three glamour charms, four hair potions and hours of leisure later, and Hermione and Parvati were ready for the ball. Susan and Hannah had been doing the same; the girls had amused themselves by sending giddy messages to each other with their DA coins. Hermione had adored it all, the solitude in a steaming bath, slipping into her glittering dress, Parvati arranging her hair. The frivolity of it was perfect. It shouted life.

Parvati firmly believed in keeping Seamus waiting. Truthfully, Parvati had been ready for some time, but she conjured little tasks and touches as the time approached for the boys to arrive. Hermione guessed it was more out of nerves than selfishness. She herself was ready but continued her day of luxury, finding herself lost in a small, leather-bound book of ancient wizarding poetry. So absorbed was she that she started at the knock on her door. Hermione opened it to find Draco fiddling absently with his white bow tie. Her breath caught. He was so handsome, it hurt. She looked up at him, and saw him fall still, taking her in. He recovered himself, smiling, and took her hand and slowly spun her around. Draco let out a breath Hermione hadn't realized he was holding. "You look beautiful." Hermione blushed, unaided by charms apart from those of Draco Malfoy.

She whispered her thanks. "Your dress robes, they're navy - midnight." She noticed they harmonized with the blue of her silvery dress.

"I'm a good guesser," he grinned. "Or I may have had Patil do some reconnaissance."

Hermione tilted her head at him, fondly. "You look very handsome, Draco. I'm almost afraid to show you off. Almost." She gently took his hand and leaned into him, letting him escort her up to the Great Hall.

She remembered the last Yule Ball, set in honour of the Triwizard champions, and was glad she didn't have to parade in front of the entire staring school this time. Though unlike the last ball, she wasn't feeling the least bit hesitant about her date. Before the war, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy at the same study table would have appeared ludicrous; now with the world turned on its end, or set to rights, or both, it seemed another turn of events that just was.

Hermione found that Draco liked dancing at a formal ball as much as at a casual bonfire party. He led with a reassuring confidence that allowed her to enjoy the music and his company all the more. Even while waltzing, he pulled her close, and she felt like they were sharing a secret no one would learn. Dancing let her absorb his handsome face, his grey eyes, his mouth curled into a soft smile. Each time a song ended, she felt a little loss.

But the spaces in between afforded her time to appreciate her friends and people watch. Parvati moved sleekly around the dance floor in her black velvet gown, and the black dress robes flattered the man that Seamus had become. All of her childhood chums looked grown up, Hermione noticed. She had the thought, as she watched Seamus slide Parvati close and whisper to her, that adulthood was not quite the loss she may have once thought.

Susan had cheered Dean with her body-skimming Gryffindor scarlet gown chosen by the Hufflepuff, as she had smirked to Hermione earlier, to encourage inter-house spirit. Hermione saw Dean flip his head back with laughter at some comment Susan had made, and his hand, brushing her back as he leaned over to reply, did not go unnoticed by either Hermione, or by the looks of it, a pink-cheeked Susan Bones.

And Neville, Neville, whom she steamrolled on the train at eleven, dragging his chubby arm behind her, Neville, the beautiful, kind boy, had fully transformed, looking dashing in a slim, Muggle tailcoat with a thin, white necktie. He was now one of the most confidently open young men she knew, but upon closer inspection this evening, seeing his stolen looks at Hannah and faraway, searching expression, Neville Longbottom looked, for the first time since McGonagall had discovered his lost parchment of passwords, like he had plenty more to lose. He patted his pocket and guided Hannah out of the hall, covering her shoulders carefully with her wrap.

Draco noticed Hermione's lost attention, and he gathered her in towards him. He murmured in her ear in a low rumble, "Hermione Granger, if you are bored, just say the word. I can fix that."

She shivered and grinned, squeezing his arm. "Oh, Draco, I'm sorry for being distracted. You might be proud. My observational skills are improving. Neville's taking Hannah out on a walk to ask her to marry him."

"Lucky girl."

Hermione gave him an odd look and a little hiccup of a laugh. "Well, yes. I would say so, but forgive me if I think that is an peculiar thing for my date to say."

Draco mimed being baffled at this comment. "Well, he's worth like, what, twelve of me? That is overwhelmingly impressive." He nodded, seriously.

Hermione stared at his placid expression for a moment, and then she released a cascade of giggles. Draco chuckled with her, and then feigned impatience. "Wait, now. I know we aren't laughing at Neville, here, but this has gone on long enough. Surely I am more than 8.3% of Longbottom." This made Hermione laugh harder, until Draco felt the only option he had was to kiss her on the mouth. He meant it to be playful, but kissing Hermione Granger was serious business for Draco Malfoy, and his desire to avoid embarrassing her with a cough from Professor McGonagall was the only point overriding his desire to take the kiss further.

He reluctantly pulled away and grinned at her. "May I get you a drink? I myself would like a very cold one. I think Anthony and Justin are by the punchbowl talking to Professor Sprout."

He led her over to friends, Anthony in dashing dress robes, Justin in white tie and a Muggle tuxedo. Justin laced his fingers into Anthony's and smiled at them both. "Hello, Hermione, you look lovely. Draco, you look..." he stopped and assessed Draco, which defied the rules of rote pleasantries and would have been awkward had anyone without Justin's kind eyes done it, "...happy. You look happy."

"I am, Fletchley. We may both have to get used to it."

Justin smiled. "Are we all waiting for Hannah to come back with her fiancé?

Hermione was shamed for feeling mild disappointment. "Oh, I thought I would be one ahead of everyone. How did you figure?"

Anthony chuckled. "We saw him in Hogsmeade having his mother's diamonds set. It was not much of a puzzle."

Hermione nodded. "Well, I am glad I made her buy that dress, then."

Anthony smiled, "Oh! That was your work. Well done. Stunning."

Hermione shook her head. "No, I just made her go for what she already fancied."

Draco said thoughtfully, "You do have a way of doing that."

The levels of meaning in his words washed over Hermione, leaving a deep blush in their wake. "Justin, Anthony, I might need some air. Can any of you Seers tell me where Neville and Hannah went to, so we go the other way?"

Draco gave a low, rumbling chuckle, and grabbed her hand. "Good seeing you two." He pulled her along swiftly to the closest door. Leaning over, in a husky whisper, he purred, "Good timing. You had about a minute left before I would have dragged you away. I mean it, Hermione, we are going to be doing much more of this," and pulling her outside into a darkened shadow of the castle, he kissed her. She tingled everywhere. It was dangerously wonderful. "And this," and he pulled away slowly from her mouth to trail light kisses from her shoulder up the side of her neck, "And this." He kissed her just behind her ear, and then softly on her earlobe. Hermione shivered. He leaned back, smirking wickedly at her wide pupils and wet, parted lips. He savored her ragged breathing. "I don't know if patience is a virtue if it pays this well," he said thoughtfully as he gently tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She shivered again, pleasantly.

"...can't imagine what Ron Weasley thinks. Or Ginny. Their own brother was murdered by Death Eaters, wasn't he? In this castle! And she's Muggleborn like you, isn't she, Dennis? What can she be thinking? Did the torture make her mad? Is that why she goes to that Healer so much?"

Hermione did not listen for a reply. Her eyes were searching Draco, who had frozen, his pale face losing the blush of pleasure Hermione had placed there. Hermione's mind flicked fleetingly over the last Yule Ball, and how hard she had worked to appear cool when she was all fluster, and how differently Ron's feelings about her had mattered to her then. Draco's hands fell, wooden, from her. His shoulders sank. She whispered, "No," and put his hand firmly back in hers. She thought again of Neville and patting his worried hand on the Hogwarts Express, Ron, whose hand she had fumbled for half asleep and nervous in Grimmauld Place, and Harry, whose hand she had gripped fiercely in the bleak graveyard. She wasn't going to be the one to let Draco's hand go tonight.

_"Homenum Revelio." _Hermione led Draco behind her, casually walking out of the shadows to greet the exposed couple. "Eirwen," she called, with a warmth everyone could judge false. Dennis' date whipped around, looking wide-eyed and trapped. "I'd forgotten your voice. I see you haven't. You look very pretty tonight. _On the outside_," she finished to herself. Dennis searched Hermione's face, apologetically. Hermione tilted her chin up, "I will send your regards and condolences to Ron when we talk next. Have fun, Dennis." She cocked her eyebrows at the pair and turned back to Draco, who was considering the night sky, his jaw set.

Draco pointed low in the night. "Gemini. The twins. I was never a fan of Weasel, but I always admired the twins. They had quite the Slytherin fan base, even as deadly Gryffindor beaters. I was sick to learn about Fred."

"Me, too."

"Please don't think I am upset with you, because I can't be. Not tonight. But I can't have you defending me."

"She was rude. I'm not going to run away."

"I don't deserve it, Hermione."

"Do you deserve me?"

Draco stared at her, lost.

"I am accustomed to being gossiped about in the wizarding world, Draco. Much of it was lies. Most of it was intentionally cruel. Maybe the scrutiny of the world feels fresh and raw to you. I won't argue that you did things you should grieve and atone for, but you are, and I am not ashamed of you. Quite the opposite. But I will never hide or back down, and I don't want to be standing alone." She gave him a calm, honest look.

He stared at her, his jaw muscle working, and then he softened, and stood tall, releasing his shoulders. "I take back any doubts I may have had about your Sorting. You are every bit the Gryffindor."

Hermione beamed at him. "The ball is about to end. Please dance with me."

He smiled and led her back into the castle.


	24. Glacius

_(Author's note: More fluffiness for you, but we do have to head to London and Wiltshire soon. Let's let them snog a bit first, shall we?)_

Hermione woke the morning after the ball fully sated. She and Draco danced until the very end with her friends who were now as much his. The brush with the foul reality of careless gossip had, if anything, brought them to a deeper understanding of the extent and synchronicity of their healing, and their fondness for each other. Draco walked her leisurely back to her room after the music had ended, hand in hand. Reaching her door, he took her hands, dropped at their sides, and brushed her lips with his, tracing her mouth with a tender ghost of a kiss. He murmured the password for her room and held the door open for her, as she rolled over the door with her back, her eyes locked on his, whispering a soft goodnight.

Hermione laid in bed for several minutes, replaying this and other moments in her mind. Her rational self, some years back, would have reasoned her heart out of being so absorbed in a boy; her older self reflected on the love of friends and crushes that had ended in a beautiful grief she cherished in its own way. If this were to pass again, it would have been worth the cost. Hermione had also come to understand, in her talks with Carna, that she'd chosen to wrap herself in Harry, and Ron, for years. It was time to lose herself, or find herself, in someone whose eyes darkened with heat when she touched him.

She nestled deeper in her soft bed, ignoring the rumbling of her stomach, when a loud crack popped from the foot of her bed, and Winky appeared with a tea tray, filled with a pot and cup, a stack of toast, a pot of jam, and a white rose in a small, silver bud vase. Winky levitated the tray to Hermione's lap, who was now sitting up in shock. The house elf fiddled with her white necktie, obviously pleased with her new item of clothing. "Draco Malfoy is wishing you a good morning. He is thanking you for a perfect evening," Winky recited, indifferent to the words, or Hermione's reaction, or anything apart from her tie. Hermione stammered a thank you, and Winky popped away with a nod.

Her protesting stomach moved her to stop staring and pour some tea and tuck into her toast. Sipping her tea, crossed-legged in bed, she gave thanks for new beginnings.

Hermione did not see Draco in the Great Hall, or the library, or out on the grounds when she went for a brisk midday run. Before dinner, she made her way down to the dungeons to look for the Slytherin. He was in his room, for Hermione could hear the familiar base thump of his music. She hoped he was listening for pleasure and not catharsis. She knocked loudly. The music stilled, and Draco, wearing chinos and a fitted heather gray Henley opened the door a crack, slid through it, and met her in the corridor.

Hermione tried to look through the slit of the doorway, but Draco's tall form covered it. "You aren't going to let me in?"

"Organizing parchments. You might step on my meticulous filing system," he grinned, and Hermione couldn't help but smile back.

"You are the only one of my friends without a charmed coin. Makes you tricky to find. I wanted to thank you for the beautiful breakfast and the wonderful time I had last night. I am so glad I was there with you, Draco."

He smiled gently and leaned down and kissed her. "Well, charmed coins don't kiss like that, do they? I'll stick to letting you track me down in person. But what's this about us being friends?"

"You don't think we are friends?"

"Well, yes. I suppose we are. But I rather thought that you might refer to me by some other distinctive status."

"God of Slytherin? Master of Breakfasts? Chief Mugwump of Hip Hop?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, you, Miss Granger, may call me whatever you like. If you don't mind though, I will be speaking of you as my girlfriend."

Hermione grinned and leaned into him to kiss him back. "I would like."

"Good. As the Master of Breakfasts, I am glad to have settled that item of business. Now, I am afraid I need to go back to my project. See you for dinner in an hour?"

"Sounds glamorous. Lamb chops." Hermione winked and gave him a quick peck on the lips and headed back up to her room to fold and pack her clothes for Christmas holiday.

Neville and Hannah were two of the few students still at Hogwarts; most had left already for home. The four enjoyed a leisurely dinner, having no studying, tutoring, or activities to rush off to. Hermione and Neville invited Hannah and Draco back to the nearly deserted Gryffindor common room, whose last two young occupants shyly made their exit upon their elders' arrival. Neville pulled out from his bag a dusty bottle of 1980 Perrier-Jouet his grandmother had liberated from her cellar, with an affectionate note of congratulations attached. Hermione murmured _Glacius_ at an empty bin next to a reading desk, setting the champagne on ice. She conjured four flutes and put them on the desk. Draco and Hannah were reverting to first-years, eagerly looking out the windows onto the slate roofs of the castle, greeting the portraits, inspecting and comparing the furnishings. Hermione decided that they needed to do a tour of the common rooms; it seemed silly that they hadn't been here before. Perhaps things would be different if they had.

Neville jokingly attempted to summon the Sword of Gryffindor to open the chilled bottle, but in the end, he coaxed the cork out and poured them each a glass.

"To Hannah Abbott, who said yes." Neville raised his glass and beamed at his fiancée. She blushed and raised her glass, cheekily, and took a sip. Hermione always thought of the common room as a worn, ancient grandfather's study, but with the golden, shadowy light of the fires and a glass of champagne in her hand, the room transformed into bohemian elegance.

The four slowly sipped their champagne, their chatting and laughter fueled somewhat by its bubbles. The newly engaged couple imagined wedding plans, and Hannah talked again about meeting with her cousin Tom about The Leaky Cauldron. Neville stretched his lanky frame out on the couch, one leg falling to the floor, Hannah's back snuggled up to him, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head. Hannah was holding his hand so that she could still see her diamond, sparkling in the firelight. Hermione and Draco sat opposite, his arm tossed over the back of the couch, his hand resting on her arm. The champagne and his faint cologne were a heady combination for her. Warm and drowsy, they chatted until the champagne was gone, and then for some time after, when Neville felt Hannah's breathing was steadying for sleep. He gently guided her out, saying their goodbyes and good wishes for Christmas.

Hermione and Draco discussed their plans for the remaining hours before their departure to her parents' home. She had shopping in both Hogsmeade and London. They would meet on Tuesday at The Leaky Cauldron at 5. Her trunk still halfway packed, Hermione went over the particulars so they would be prepared for their time away.

Hermione smirked, "You don't dress for dinner at the Manor, do you, Draco?"

He gave her a reassuring look. "Not since the late 1980s." He rolled his eyes when her eyes widened in surprise. "Kidding, Granger." He sighed. "Oh, Hermione, are you really sure you want to do this? The Manor? It's really...and I wasn't..." He put his head in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. "What was I thinking, letting you come? Am I completely mad?"

"Draco, it will be okay. You will be there with me."

He searched her face, his tight and anxious. He squeezed his eyes closed with pain, and she moved to kiss it away. She kissed his eyelids, softly, and he kissed her mouth back. She leaned into him, curling her hands into the downy hair at his nape, and he pulled her onto his lap. They sat like this, kissing and running their hands over each other until they were both breathless.

Draco took a deep gulp of air. "I, ah, need to make up for lost time...I need you to forget about any other boys you may have snogged in this room. From now on, I want to you think of me when you sit on this couch."

Hermione answered quietly, "I never snogged a boy in this room. You would be the first."

"Oh, Merlin, Hermione," and Draco kissed her so thoroughly she forgot for a while if anyone else had ever kissed her before. They were startled when one of their wands, resting on an end table, popped with green sparks, causing them to both laugh sheepishly.

Hermione looked up at Draco seriously. "If you want me to forget all of my other kisses, we are going to have to work our way around the castle...and some of the grounds..." she grinned, saucily.

"Challenge accepted." Draco murmured, as he nuzzled her collarbone. He ran his hand gently through her curls and rubbed his thumb slowly on her cheek.

"If I'm not going to see you until Tuesday evening, we are going to need some memories to hold me." She kissed his neck, his ear, his throat.

He pulled away from her, his breathing ragged, eyes darkened from silver to mercury. "We, ahh, need to stop, now. You, Granger, are entirely too good at kissing for my sanity." Hermione looked heated but smug.

Draco composed himself and Hermione escorted him out. He walked her to her door, giving her a soft peck on the cheek. "See you Tuesday." Hermione smiled and nodded. She was cautious and apprehensive about many things to come, but none of them coloured how she felt about Draco Malfoy.


	25. Densaugeo

Hermione perched nervously on a barstool at The Leaky Cauldron, picking at a thread on her navy cape coat. Her shopping flowed quickly; last Christmas she was alone and cold and hungry with Harry, and she had missed picking out presents to pass out under a glittering tree. The shopping had gone so well that she had finished early. She tried stopping at Flourish and Blotts to read, but her mind couldn't settle. So she had returned to her trunk she'd stowed at the pub, and for the last hour, she had been absently nursing a butterbeer. Discomfited by her friends pointing out her obliviousness to the relationships brewing in the castle, Hermione occupied herself by studying patrons coming and going, predicting stories for each. It kept her mind from returning to London, and Wiltshire, and their parents.

She regarded a man who slid into a nearby booth, composing a story under her breath. "Mr. So-and-So is a businessman in the trade of rare, dragon-based potion ingredients. He is meeting Ms. Whoosit, a representative for Gringotts. They are discussing the terms the goblins...oh." Hermione's story was interrupted by Mr. So-and-So groping a willing Ms. Whoosit under the table. She averted her eyes and turned back to look in the mirror behind the bar. Someone was sliding onto the stool next to hers.

"Hermione." Christopher Sly gave her a neutral, cautious greeting.

"Christopher. Happy Christmas." Hermione wasn't sure if she felt the flustery feeling gathering in her because of today's nerves, or their fleeting, mutual attraction, his thoughtless words, or her rebuking ones.

"You are alone?"

"For a bit, yes. My...boyfriend," Hermione tried the word out for the first time, "is meeting me here. We are headed to my parents'." Saying this whole sentence out loud sounded so peculiar to her. Was that exactly what was happening tonight? She supposed it was, sort of.

Christopher blinked at her. "Wow. Well, that sounds...serious."

"It is," Hermione nodded, and then an odd giggle bubbled up. "Quite." She supposed he had meant something entirely different, but Hermione had experienced several bleakly serious Christmases in a row. She craved a casual Christmas, or a frivolous Christmas, or a silly one. Maybe next year.

"You ok?" He cocked an eyebrow, smirking. Hermione recovered.

"Family," she nodded, deadpan. "You know, the hols. Always a bit stressful."

"Mmm hmm," he smiled, flagging down Tom to order a whiskey. He leaned in to ask her another question, when Hermione felt a hand touch her arm from behind. Draco had assessed the stranger next to her, and she could tell he didn't enjoy the story he had written in his head.

Christopher's eyes flicked up, a shadow of irritation behind them. He raised his eyebrows in a challenge. Hermione started to conduct an introduction, but the two men squared off to engage in their own duel of icy pleasantries.

"Christopher Sly."

"Draco Malfoy."

They shook hands, Hermione's eyes darting between them. Christopher was searching his mind for a moment, and Hermione could mark the second he retrieved the misplaced memory.

"Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"Yes."

"He was a Death Eater," Christopher explained to Hermione as though she were a small, confused child.

"I was a Death Eater," Draco offered, matter-of-factly.

"And you're not in Azkaban." Christopher nodded with disgust.

Hermione moved to cut in, but Draco interrupted her. "My father has no soul. I am working to make my amends. You can ask Harry Potter why I'm not in Azkaban. If he tells you the story, tell me. I'm as curious as you are."

Christopher looked at Hermione with disgust. "I had you all wrong. Noble war heroine. What a joke."

Draco clenched his jaw and handed Hermione his wand. "Outside, Sly."

"Oh, please. Muggle fighting is so Hogwarts. You want to duel, son? Let's go."

"Actually, I'd rather you apologize to my girlfriend. I'm not interested in going to prison for you, thanks."

"I bet, coward." Christopher made a move to walk to the exit. Draco stepped to follow, but Christopher swiveled around quickly, punching Draco in the mouth with one, fluid motion, and disappeared, apparating out of the bar. Hermione screamed as the nearby patrons scattered. Draco grimaced and walked out into the alley, Hermione close behind. He spat out blood and a tooth. "Dammit. Sorry. You remember that charm Dean said Ted Tonks used to put his teeth to rights?" Draco mumbled thickly, his lip starting to swell.

"No. Draco, we should go to St. Mungo's."

"Nobe. We'll be late. Do you doh a shringing sbell?"

"Yes, but."

"When I say. _Dinsaugeo_."

Draco's front teeth started to grow alarmingly fast. He opened his mouth to show her when the stub of a tooth had grown out. "Dow?"

She stopped his hex and shrank the surrounding teeth carefully, using light from his wand to help her see. She muttered "_Episkey_," and conjured some ice in a towel. "Should look better in a moment." She touched her wand to some blood spatters on his clothing. Draco murmured a sheepish thank you and walked back to the pub to apologize to Tom and get their trunks. He returned looking mutinous.

"Sorry, Hermione. The irony of that spell was not lost on me."

"Me either," she shrugged. "Looks okay. She kissed the uninjured side of his face. Does it hurt?"

"Bit. No matter. Do we apparate?"

"Normally, I'd take the Underground. Not up for it, now. Grab your trunk."

She held his hand and they were tugged sharply into a small garden shed. Hermione let go of Draco's hand and peeked out the door. "All clear."

They were in a small garden courtyard. December had not whitened London with snow, and despite the dreary, dormant season, the lawn and shrubbery were neatly groomed. Hermione dragged her trunk to the back door of a brick terraced home, and fished out a set of keys to unlock the door.

"Hello! Mum! Dad!" Hermione called out, stealthily levitating the trunks in and shutting the door. They were in a small scullery. Hermione led Draco into the kitchen. It was small, but appeared recently refurbished, with marble counters and white cabinetry. There was a large pot simmering on the cooker. Hermione popped the lid off and took a sniff. "Mom! Dad!"

A delicate, pretty woman with straight brown hair in a chignon stuck her head in the kitchen. "Oh, hello," she said, in a friendly manner, but Draco watched Hermione's shoulders slump and a forced smile stick to her face.

"Thomas, Hermione is here with her friend," her mother called as she gave Hermione a quick hug and a peck. Her father came into the room. He was thin, with dark brown hair, horn-rimmed bifocals, and a serious expression. He smiled politely and gave Hermione a small kiss on the cheek and looked expectantly at her.

"Mum, Dad, this is Draco Malfoy. Draco, Dr. Nina Granger and Dr. Thomas Granger."

Hermione's mother looked at Draco thoughtfully. "Were you and Hermione friends at Hogwarts? Your name sounds awfully familiar."

"No, ma'am. We weren't friends."

Her father looked confused. He considered Hermione. "Was this the young man you told us about who bullied you? Who called you that..."

"Dad..."

"Yes, sir. Yes. That was me, sir. I'm sure it upset you greatly to hear about it then. I'm sorry, sir." Her parents regarded each other for a moment, bemused as if they knew they should find themselves upset, but the map was confusing, and the journey there was long.

"Well, that is all right then, I suppose," her father said, slowly.

"Yes, Dad," said Hermione, gently. "It is all right."

The townhouse was Victorian, but the Grangers had renovated it to be modern, sleek, and airy. Hermione supposed it would have been a curiosity to Draco had it been a wizarding home; as it was also Muggle, it was probably the most unusual home he'd ever seen. Hermione broke the discomforting silence and led Draco and their gently levitating trunks up to the third floor, which contained two bedrooms and a bath. She helped him settle his trunk in the second bedroom, which was a pale grey with a small, original mantlepiece which had been neutrally painted a shade darker. There was a bed with grey and white bedding, two thin side tables, and a slim writing desk near a window to the garden. She showed him the bath, and he shyly asked to see her room. It was the same pale grey, but the curtains and bedding were dotted with delicate, embroidered forget-me-nots. There was a skirted dressing table, and built-in bookshelves lined an entire wall. These were filled with some wizarding texts, but many of the books Draco had never heard of, some battered from multiple readings. Woven in between the books were pieces of Hermione's childhood - a riding trophy, a small, lumpy sculpture of a dog made by tiny hands, a music box topped with a figure of a ballerina. And photographs. Two or three of the oldest were of very young girls, but most were of their Hogwarts classmates. None of the pictures moved, their subjects frozen in time. Draco picked up one of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the boys' arms thrown around her shoulders, Harry in his Quidditch kit, holding the golden snitch. Draco spoke. "What must your parents have thought about all of this." It wasn't a question as much as it was an affirmation.

Hermione nodded. "They know what they _thought_. It's the _felt_ that I'm wondering about, still." Draco put the frame back on the shelf. He sat down next to Hermione on her bed.

"Next time, I'd like to see a picture of us up there, do you think?" Draco smiled, shyly.

"Yes," she kissed him, softly. He pulled back and looked around the room pointedly, with a grin. Hermione read his thought and giggled.

"Merlin's pants, I'm kissing Hermione Griffindor Granger, the Brightest Witch of Her Age, in her Muggle bedroom!" Draco chuckled and leaned in for another kiss. Then he stood up quickly and reached for her hand. "Not interested in either of the Doctors Granger finding me passionately snogging their daughter on her bed." Hermione grinned.

They washed up and headed down to the first floor, where Hermione's father was pulling out vegetables for a salad. Draco offered up a bottle of wine from the Manor's collection and began to quickly chop carrots into a meticulous, even dice. Hermione was reminded of her discussion with Parvati of practical magical skills. Potions had its Muggle applications.

The dining room was white with a warm wood floor. One piece of abstract expressionist art broke the starkness. A table for eight was set simply for four at the end. Hermione was showing Draco, without realizing it, how she adapted her magic for her parents. She wrapped her hands in tea towels to carry out a steaming tureen of soup, and returned for a bowl of salad, but she lit the candles with a soft snap of her fingers, letting the thin flames flicker to life.

Dinner was a polite but quiet meal. Hermione noticed that Draco followed her lead, explaining wizarding concepts or merely translating them into palatable substitutes. It was true, in a fashion, that Draco's father was suffering from dememtia; certainly, it was easier to understand and less alarming than explaining he had suffered from Dementors.

As it turned out, Hermione's parents' indifference to her kept Draco from their full scrutiny. Hermione was grateful for this lone benefit in her dull ache of grief and loss, and she was thankful he'd asked to come; the lack of a warm, familiar ring of concern, interest, and pride from her mother and father would have clanged discordantly at a small table for three. Hermione's thoughts turned to Draco. She bit her lip in thought. Perhaps he wouldn't want to be trapped with this remote, cool Muggle family for three days. Maybe he would find out he didn't like her as much as she'd thought he had.

Draco saw her absent expression and nudged her leg under the table with his. She looked up to see him wink at her, and she recovered enough to guide him through a discussion of cosmetic dentistry, as she casually snuck inspective glances at Draco's repaired teeth.

The Grangers had startled her by announcing at the end of the meal that they were working the next two days, but that they thought it was a fine idea to move their regular Christmas festivities forward to Christmas Eve. She scowled faintly at the table, trying to imagine what she would have done alone, and what she should plan for Draco now. She waved her parents off to their books and some Christmas music on the radio, and set to clearing the table and washing up from dinner. Draco observed her for a moment, and then held out his hand to her. "Apron?" Hermione smirked, and conjured a full apron with frilly sleeves and a pattern of teapots.

Draco looked down. "Aces. Looks like Weasley's dress robes." Hermione snorted. "Okay, Granger. Muggle Studies begins now. Let's do this."

She led him through scrubbing the dishes and pots, drying them and putting them away. It was oddly satisfying to do a mundane chore deliberately and without magic, she supposed. Draco must have agreed, for in their silence, he began to hum along with the radio music floating in from the sitting room in the front of the house. She was broken by her parents' remoteness, and she supposed she grieved on their behalf too, because they would have before, and they couldn't now. Draco's humming faded, and she looked up to notice him considering her.

"Don't think that I am selfless, because this is a selfish request. Let's plan something fun tomorrow. We can't just wait here all day for them to come home. What would a fun Muggle do tomorrow?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "A fun Muggle?"

"Pretend," he patted her arm.

"Well, I thought I was Muggle for eleven years, Draco."

"No, love. Pretend you are fun."

Hermione giggled. "Thank you. Um, all right, then. She thought about it for a moment. You know, let's go log in upstairs and see what we come up with. I'll show you what we can do, and you can tell me what looks good to you."

"Miss Granger!" Draco aped a scandalized expression.

Hermione snorted. "I'm glad you are here, Draco. Muggle device. Upstairs. Just...never mind."

He smirked and gave her a well-aimed smack with his drying towel.


	26. Diminuendo

Hermione enjoyed watching Draco sitting in front of a computer. She thought he'd be scornful of Muggle technology, but he seemed thoroughly excited by the mechanics of the machine as well as the events and places within London that they had searched for. It was true that Draco had been raised away from Muggles, but he'd also been raised away from many people of any kind; spending most of his time on a remote country estate, city life was still new to him.

"Have you gone anywhere in Muggle London other than record shops?" she wondered.

Draco shrugged. "Not really, no. Amazing, I know."

Hermione rested her chin on her arm sprawled across her mother's desk. "Why the sudden interest in Muggle things? I thought you hated it all before."

Draco nodded. "That was Carna. My parents' choices didn't...work, did they?" he smirked, ruefully. "So Carna helped me peel away the layers of mistakes, misperceptions. In the end, I suppose they were afraid of losing their place. Fear breeds hatred, doesn't it? Might as well learn about Muggles, instead of fearing them, I suppose. Because, really, I don't have any more to lose, do I?"

Hermione sat up at this. "Well, now. That is something to consider. Do you have anything to lose?"

Draco gazed at her, a small smile creeping over his face. "Well, maybe one thing."

"One? Does this one thing hate Muggles?" she smiled, her head cocked back as she challenged him, teasingly.

"No, this one thing likes Muggles quite a lot," he whispered, and he kissed her.

They'd eventually returned, slightly rumpled and flushed, to the computer, and they found a winter festival to attend. The following morning, they awoke early to be there first thing, yet the decorated park was already packed with families. Draco seemed unnerved by sight of the rides depending on engineering and not magic, so Hermione purchased tickets to a helter skelter. Draco surveyed the garishly painted wooden cone carefully while they waited for their turns.

"So, what happens when you go inside the door, there?" he gestured.

"You go up the stairs to the top."

"Then what?"

"You sit on a mat and slide down the slide around the outside," she pointed to a squealing girl hurtling down.

"Then what?"

Hermione considered the question for a moment and shrugged. "That's it, really."

Draco blinked at her, eyed the winding queue before them, and peered at the growing tail of a queue forming behind them as they spoke.

"Alright, then," he smiled.

He stepped behind her and scooped Hermione into his arms, holding her while they waited, his chin on the top of her head. He steered her around in their spot, pointing her to things he wanted to ask her about. His questions mapped out their time; he wanted to ice skate, to browse the German market, to play carnival games. Hermione had not been to a festival in so long, she was almost as keen as Draco to explore it all.

Draco, as it had turned out, liked the helter skelter very much. He barked a laugh when he gained enough speed to be dumped ungraciously on his bum at its base.

He was even more enthusiastic about the ice skating. Hermione learned that Malfoy Manor had several ponds on the estate grounds, perfect for skating, and she and Draco flew across the ice, each pleased with the skill of the other. She bought them Cokes and bacon sandwiched in between halves of large, floury rolls, and they ate them while browsing the market stalls. Draco won a purple teddy bear of an alarming size at a ring toss; Hermione was scowling as she reluctantly accepted it.

"You were entirely too good at ring toss," she grumbled.

Draco affected a look of shock. "Are you questioning my skills?"

"Yes! Those bottles are stacked too close to get one ring on. You did eight!" She ducked around a tent and shrunk the bear down to the size of a bean bag and tossed it in her purse, rolling her eyes as Draco smirked.

Hermione wasn't satisfied until she saw Draco sportingly lose at several other games, and by then he was comfortable enough to let her drag him on a Ferris wheel. His skepticism of Muggle amusement rides ebbed when he discovered a Ferris wheel was an ideal place to kiss Hermione for four breathless minutes. She pulled away gasping, "Didn't you even want to check out the view?"

Draco winked. Hermione huffed with a smile threatening to give away her pleasure. He leaned in and whispered, huskily, "We can fly. I'm a wizard. Let's not tell anyone," and he put his finger to his lips.

The weak winter daylight was quickly fading, and Hermione and Draco, worn out from a day of play, stopped at a takeaway for curries to take home for dinner. Her parents were grateful but again Hermione felt their absence. Draco steered the mealtime conversation away from polite questions about dentistry to Hermione. She noticed, with a tug of fear, that he was guiding them to memories that should have been funny or poignant, had they been put to parents who were not spell damaged.

"When did you first suspect that Hermione was different - that she could do magic? My parents were counting on it, but you mustn't have been."

Hermione's mother nodded, seriously. "Well, there were always odd things. We were new parents and working and awfully tired. I would think I had given her potatoes, but it would be ice cream. I would think that I had forgotten I'd changed her nappy, but maybe I hadn't at all. Maybe she had dried it. I took her to the doctor once to see if she was getting enough fluids. I would lay her down in her cot, and the light would flip on when I left the room; we had the electrician come around twice." Her mother smiled, tentatively. "But the first magic I saw was when she was barely three. I forgot her blanket, and she was crying for it. And then it just sailed right past me, into her arms. She wasn't surprised at all." Hermione looked over and noticed her father studying her as though he hadn't memorized her just yet.

"Then," her father said, turning to Draco, "your Professor McGonagall came to visit. She comes to all Muggle families, but she came to our house, she said, earlier than most. She said she needed to help us help Hermione keep her magic under wraps until she got to Hogwarts and was able to control it with a wand."

Hermione noticed Draco leaning toward them with interest far beyond interest in just her. "I always wondered about how that worked. My school house didn't have any Muggleborn students. How did she arrange that meeting? A stranger coming to call about your young daughter?"

Hermione's mother smiled. "We had a neighbor, bit dotty, but very kind. She was a, what do you call them?"

Hermione offered, "A Squib, Mum."

Her mother nodded. "Yes, sounds unkind. Anyway, she invited herself over for tea one Sunday and brought Professor McGonagall with her. She started to tell us of the magic Hermione had done, but we were..." Hermione's mother struggled to recall, her brow wrinkling, "well, I suppose we were afraid to say anything about Hermione. We felt...um..." she paused to consider, picking at a crumb on the table, "protective. So she pulled out a wand and alphabetized our library by author's last name."

Her father chuckled. "I should like to have her back. It's fallen out of order. Can you sort it, Hermione?"

Hermione looked at her father with wry amusement. "Yes, Dad. Tonight."

Draco pushed further. He leaned back in, and asked in a low, soft voice, "How did it feel to find out your daughter was a witch?"

Her mother looked lost again. Her brow recreased. "I should know. I should...I imagine I was scared. It's been so long ago, now."

Hermione could feel Draco watching her. She knew she looked as far away as her mother did. He changed the subject abruptly. "This curry is really good. I think I am going to have to start changing out more Galleons when I am in London. This is certainly much better than Tom's stew."

Hermione smiled and nervously bit her lip. "Mum, may we help tomorrow with our Christmas Eve dinner?"

Her mother retreated momentarily from the place her heart had drifted. "Yes. Very nice of you. I have the turkey. There is a bit of shopping to do, and some cooking prep, I suppose. I have a list." She nodded, absently, and began to clear the dishes, and her feelings, for today.

* * *

Draco looked at Hermione while she was running dishes under the tap in the kitchen. She knew she still was occupied by her thoughts, but she couldn't let them go.

"You look just like your mum when you look far away."

Hermione dried her hands on a tea towel and turned to look, apologetically, at Draco. "I'm sorry I'm not good company, just now. What were your Christmases like, as an only child?"

"Ridiculous. I was spoilt rotten. As I know you are aware," he grinned.

"Well, I hope I wasn't spoilt. But my parents poured themselves into Christmas. I got beautiful letters from Father Christmas telling me what a wonderful girl I was. My mum left a trail of glitter from the hearth to the full tree. We made biscuits for days, and Dad would pour a finger of whiskey to go with the plate of treats I left for Father Christmas. I just..." Hermione blinked back tears, and Draco pulled her into a hug. She drank in the scent of his warm shirt, and squeezed the tears back down.

He drew back and flicked his wand over the last bit of washing up they had left. He steered her up to her bathroom and sent her in to wash. She came out damp and pink cheeked, and he ushered her into her room to change into her pajamas. He knocked a few minutes later, wearing a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Hermione was sitting on the edge of her bed, stiff and defeated. He laid her down on her bed, and pulled her into him, wordlessly. She put her head on his chest, the steady thump of his heart lulling her to sleep.


	27. Accio Christmas

_Author's note: I pulled a quote directly from __Harry Potter and The Order of The Phoenix __in this one. _

Hermione slid out of sleep much like she had slid in. She awoke gently, blinking fuzzily, allowing her body to stay heavy and still. Her grief had ebbed for now, and taken the raw numbness with it, and so today Hermione was able to study Draco with clear eyes.

Draco Malfoy. In her bedroom. In her Muggle bedroom. Willingly. Hermione smiled sleepily to herself. It was true, when she was fourteen and Draco was insufferable, that she had been perversely fascinated with his beautiful face and graceful body. In this room, she would shake away odd, random, furtive wonderings about Draco, and now here he was, kind, funny, protective, and disarmingly handsome. In her bed. Her fourteen-year-old self squirmed with embarrassment - and glee. Hermione shyly let her eyes discover him. She didn't think she'd ever had this much time to herself to take him in, unawares. His eyelashes had dark blond roots, and the white tips brushed his face. Hermione fought the urge to kiss his soft mouth and instead studied the silvery stubble on his jaw, and the faint cleft in his pointed chin. He had curled facing her in the night, but an arm still reached for her, his right hand covering her left. His breathing was deep and even. Hermione looked down to study his arm; the Dark Mark was nearly invisible, a faint pink in the weak morning sun filtering through the curtains.

She didn't want to wake him, but she wanted that bicep wrapped around her. She wiggled gently into him, but this small movement flicked his grey eyes open. Her brow wrinkled in disappointment. "I'm sorry I woke you. I was trying to be careful."

Draco smiled a slow, sleepy smile, his eyes still half open. "I don't know where you have been, Granger," he growled, his voice raspy as he threw an arm around her and pulled her close to his warm body, "but I've not shared a bed with anyone before. You are a quiet sleeper, but an extremely distracting one." He playfully nuzzled her neck, and Hermione bit down a squeal of laughter. He popped a kiss on her cheek. "Happy early Christmas." He gestured to the foot of her bed with a jerk of his head. Two wrapped presents were waiting for them. She recognized the first as one she had wrapped a week ago. She stared at them, and gave Draco a quizzical look.

"Well," he said, "I can't say I wouldn't have been disappointed if an '_Accio _Draco's Christmas present from Hermione' hadn't been productive," he smirked, "but fortunately for my spoiled ego, it was."

Hermione grinned. She crawled down to the gifts and noticed a sprinkle of glitter around them. She looked up, catching Draco biting his lip, watching her searchingly, but when their eyes met, he looked up at the ceiling, playfully. She put her hand to her chest and smiled at him. He sat up, cross-legged, and made a ridiculous grabbing gesture for his present, which she handed over reluctantly.

"Draco, it's not even Christmas Eve. We are supposed to wait until at least tomorrow."

Draco drew himself up, and Hermione was reminded of the young Draco and his air of self-importance. He looked down at her, and said, loftily, "Christmas, Hermione Granger, is for us to celebrate and make new memories. Let us focus on...preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited." He nodded, seriously.

Hermione stared at him, open mouthed. "Well, first thing...no one...no one gets to quote Delores Umbridge in my bed ever again. That's prohibited. And second, and then we don't have to speak of her...ever...again, you are the only other student I have met who was paying any attention to that speech, which makes me really conflicted, because I think that paying attention is very sexy."

Draco had leaned back on the bed during Hermione's lecture, silently shaking with laughter, until the last bit, when he quickly wiped his eyes and sat up. "That escalated quickly, Granger." Hermione could have said the same if she had words, for at that moment, Draco looked dangerously predatory. She fended him off by shoving his present into his lap. He shook off his look and rubbed his hands together, excitedly. It was a heavy, square box. Draco opened it slowly, gently coaxing the silver ribbon off and sliding the green paper open with his wand. He lifted the lid to the box and grinned, excitedly. Hermione wondered if this was what he looked like as a small boy at Christmas. If so, she wanted to buy him piles of presents, for nonexistent occasions she was willing to conjure. He gingerly took out a stack of record albums and set them on his lap.

"Wow!" He moved through the stack slowly, looking at each album carefully in turn, reading the track lists. "Mos Def? Jay-Z? I don't have a single one of these! How did you do that?"

Hermione leaned in and whispered, "I am a witch. Let's not tell anybody."

Draco smiled, "Oooooh, you have magic? Tell me what you did to sort this out. Did I tell you my password?"

"No, I wouldn't snoop. I saw them, remember? I put that memory in a pensieve. Took a notebook with me into my memory and wrote down what you had. Then I took the list to London, and I had a clerk in the shop help me. Did I do all right?"

"All right? This is perfection." Draco beamed. "This Master P one is an import?"

"Mmm hmm. Julian, the record shop bloke, looked at your list and said there were some you might like that weren't here yet, so I had my cousin in America ship them to me. Not by owl. Muggles all."

Draco took a deep breath and sighed. "Thank you, Hermione. These are just what I wanted. Please thank your cousin for me. But don't go back and thank that bloke Julian."

Hermione sat cross-legged and hugged her knees in delight. Draco grinned at her and leaned on his elbows, levitating her present into her lap. She smiled at the royal blue wrapping, and she murmured, "Oh, how I missed this."

"I do believe this is the first present I have ever given you," he replied, bemused.

"I missed this," she gestured, waving her hands at the gifts. "Presents. Last Christmas, I was so cold. And hungry. My clothes were starting to get loose on me. I just wanted my mum and dad, and a pot of cocoa, and this."

Draco looked miles away, his face tight. Hermione looked fearful at the rapid change. A thought occurred to her with a swoop of dread. "Oh, Draco, he was at your home last Christmas, wasn't he?"

"Voldemort. Yes. None of the rest matters. I was fed. I was warm. Hermione," he swallowed, and looked away at her wall of books and photographs, "I'm not afraid of much, anymore. Things that used to terrify me; I've embraced them. I've welcomed them like old friends. I can be curious, and sorry, and silly, and brave in ways that give me some hope...but I am so scared to take you home with me."

"What are you afraid of?"

Draco searched the wall with his eyes, unable to look at her. "I'm afraid to remember things. I am afraid to see you, there. I am afraid my parents will be repulsive, because they are. I am afraid of them, who they have become, maybe who they always were. I am afraid I don't know what being a good son means now. I am afraid for my mother. I am afraid I will need to protect you, and I won't be able to again. I am afraid you will remember why you hated me, and I am afraid I can't ever be good enough to fix that." He chewed on his bottom lip. "Weasley was right. Carna had her work cut out for her with me. And she has plenty left undone."

Hermione didn't rush in to comfort him. She sat and considered his words.

"I think," she started, slowly, after some silence, "you have fixed many things I would have thought were unfixable. You are here. With me. Does that make you happy?"

Draco blinked, not anticipating her words. "Yes," he said, firmly. "Yes, I am. It feels...different. But I want to get used to it."

Hermione nodded. "I've told you I like you enough to want to know what all of you is like, Draco. Even the ugly bits. I'm brave enough sometimes for the both of us."

This hung in the air. Hermione watched him take in her words, nodding at the last of them.

"Draco, can I open my present now?" she asked, in a small voice.

He looked flustered. "I'm sorry! Please. I'll 'fess up now; I got help from Parvati, but only a little," he blurted, as he nodded at her to open it.

She tore into the wrapping recklessly, and the soft package yielded easily, as yards of pale blue cashmere tumbled into her lap. Lifting the soft knit up to examine it, she exclaimed, "Oh! It's the same shade as my dress!"

Draco beamed. "Rapidly becoming my favourite colour."

Hermione unfurled the material. It was a wrap the length of a robe, as soft as a rabbit and very thick. "It's beautiful! Thank you!"

Draco leaned over and took it from her hands, wrapping it around her shoulders. "Malfoy Manor was built not long after parts of Hogwarts. It's drafty."

Hermione snuggled into it. "Well, then, you are charged with the duty to keep me warm. This is a good start." She flicked her eyes up at him, and he took in a breath.

"I am not sure you know what you just asked of me, but before you change your mind, you have yourself a deal, Granger." Draco leaned in and gave her a kiss.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione."

"Happy Christmas, Draco."

* * *

Hermione thought she would have time, on the day before Christmas Eve, to stop at a museum, or take a bus tour of London, but she hadn't counted on the amount of time it would take to explain routine Muggle errands to a curious wizard. The wine shop took ages; Draco had spent enough time wandering in his family's wine cellar that he had enough knowledge of varietals to engage the clerk in a meandering discussion that left Hermione amused and bored in turns. When they finally left with two bottles of Chardonnay, Hermione thought the grocery shopping would go quickly, but Draco insisted on wandering each aisle asking about random products. The tabloid magazine kiosk alone waylaid them for almost an hour. The self-checking till took several minutes, as Draco needed to have the entire system of credit cards explained, from interest rates to the chip embedded in the plastic of the card. He then distracted himself watching the machine next to theirs suck in pound notes and spit out coins in change. Noticing the queue forming for the tills, she was about to cut his adventure short with a suggestion that he reminded her of Arthur Weasley, but he caught her eye as she was ready to pull an exasperated face and gave her a smile that made her stomach flutter. He grinned wider when he realized his power, for he had to go back and grab the last carrier bag off the hooks, lest she leave it behind in her fluster. Hermione blushed at his smug grin as he loped slowly out of the shop, holding out an elbow for her to take.

The streets of London were bustling and cheerful, and Hermione felt layers of otherworldliness about it all. Last year, she wondered, were people doing this while she was fighting a war? Putting up mistletoe? Buying cartons of chicken stock and potatoes? Picking out a tree?

"Oh!" Hermione startled.

"Oh, yourself. I was just going to ask you where you were. You are so quiet." Draco looked down at her, puzzled.

"A tree! And I was just talking about it with you! We need a tree." She pulled him into a corner parking lot that had stacks of pine trees tied up with netting. Their hands already burdened with bags, Hermione picked a tiny tree that she could carry easily herself the few blocks back to her home.

"Did you have a tree at home for Christmas, Draco?"

"Not last year. But usually I would help my father cut one down on the property. My mother would decorate it herself; she was particular about it."

Hermione wondered, "I hope my parents didn't give away their lights and decorations. They gave away some random things when I brought them back from Australia; I suppose they had their reasons, but they didn't make much sense to me."

Draco shrugged. "We can charm something if they don't."

Hermione smiled at him. "Thank you."

"For what? Wouldn't you have thought to do that?" Draco looked confused.

Hermione let out a breath and smiled. "I would have worried about it and felt sorry for myself. I probably wouldn't have even bothered with the tree. Thank you again for coming with me. It feels so much better than being alone."

Draco smiled and nudged her along. "That is going to get heavy soon. Let's move along before I levitate everything or disapparate in front of a million Muggles."

They reached her home early in the afternoon. After finding some leftovers for lunch and putting away their shopping, Hermione disappeared up to her room and brought down the records she bought Draco. Putting the Beastie Boys album on, she unwrapped the tree and dug out the tree stand. She set Draco to chopping vegetables for spaghetti Bolognese for tonight's dinner, a task that he took on with surgical precision, nodding his head to the beat of the music. She peeled, measured, and prepped ingredients for tomorrow's meal, and put a pot on for sauce and one for pasta. As she wiped the knives with a drying towel and ran it over the counter, she stopped and turned to Draco.

"Are you going to tell me where you and I are going tomorrow, or do I have to take a portkey blindfolded?"

"Let's open that present when it's time. Are you going to look for decorations for that tree?"

Hermione nodded. "Come with me. They should be in the attic." Hermione waited until Draco wiped his hands and sniffed at the sauce, and she led him upstairs. To her relief, she found lights and decorations, and she happily decorated the tree with the ornaments she had made in school, garishly painted baubles, a reindeer made of clothespins, little photos in green pasta wreaths. Their jobs done, Draco rummaged in the kitchen for a bottle of Chianti and a couple of glasses. He poured them some wine and carefully changed out his record for a Christmas one left by the stereo.

"Does this feel a little normal?" He wondered, admiring the slightly tilting tree coated with random ornaments.

"I don't know. I like it, though," Hermione murmured, and she kissed him. She lost herself in their kiss, in his spicy scent and warm mouth, and let go of time, until they startled apart at the sound of a key scraping in a lock and the bang of the back door. Draco, his face flushed, grabbed his wand from a side table and flicked it at Hermione's shirt, buttoning a button she'd not noticed was open. She blushed.

Her parents shouted a casual hello and made noises in the kitchen, a sink running, a pot lid lifting, a murmur of appreciation. She could hear two more glasses clink on the counter, and then her father came into the room. Draco jumped off the couch, Hermione noticing how smoothly he could affect looking politely bored.

"A tree! Hermione, I cannot believe we forgot a tree. I suppose with the holiday planning we didn't bother." Her father drew near, inspecting the ornaments. Her mother came in, and greeted them quietly. She gravitated toward the tree, and Hermione could see the wine in her glass shake.

"You were in nursery school when you made that clay handprint." Hermione looked at her mother's face. It was like a spring sky - blank, then a roll of cloud, a peek of sun, all in the space of moments. She seemed to be fighting for words. "Your hands were so small, weren't they?"

"Yes, Mum. I don't remember making it, though."

"I do, Hermione. I remember." Her mother turned back into the kitchen to watch the pasta water boil.


	28. Accio Memories

To Hermione, Draco seemed emboldened by her parents' reactions to her little tree of memories, glistening in the corner of the room. She was unsure of his goal, but she was choosing to let him move forward. Again, he captained the dinner conversation, navigating through vague pleasantries straight into dark waters. Hermione did not notice that she was gripping her fork tightly until her fingers started to ache from it. Her ears were ringing, and she forced down a mouthful of spaghetti to bring herself around to hear Draco speaking.

"...It was awful. My family fought on the wrong side, and I realized it too late. I'm sorry you missed a year of your work here, because of the war..."

Hermione took a deep pull from her wine glass, her mind struggling over whether to listen; her heart couldn't take much more. He continued.

"...she had every right to be afraid...enough to modify your memories. I wish it didn't have to come to that. But it did. Your daughter is the bravest person I know."

Her father leveled a look at Draco and pointedly ignored his daughter.

"Her mother and I were angry when we realized what she'd done to us. Ron Weasley came with her, and a contact from your government, they told us she did the best, but..."

Draco interrupted him. "There was a witch, Bellatrix Lestrange. She was my aunt. She was killed by Mrs. Weasley. She tried to kill Ginny. She tortured our classmate's parents almost twenty years ago now. They never got their minds back. I know, because Bellatrix, my aunt, told me, that she wanted to do the same to you. I don't know what would have been better for Hermione to do, but I am sure that you wouldn't be here now if she hadn't done what she did. I know Hermione wishes your hearts had not paid the price."

Hermione's father leaned back from the table, his voice smooth, without a ripple of feeling, "Well, I think our hearts are quite fine. We were upset with Hermione for not letting us in on her plans, but..."

Draco leaned in, pulling himself forward on his elbows, keeping the distance to her father close. His voice was even also, but Hermione noticed an urgency to it. "Does this feel like Christmas to you?"

Her father stared at him. "I don't know what you mean. It will take time to get over the, the indignation of it all..."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You don't seem indignant. Or angry."

Thomas Granger folded his napkin and put it by his plate. "Draco, son, I'm not sure you can tell us what we feel." Hermione noticed an edge to it she'd not heard in a very long time. She embraced it, hopeful for anger.

Draco nodded. "I'm sure I can't. Can you tell us?"

Hermione's mother looked very far away. She spoke quietly. "Hermione is brave. That is very kind of you to say...very kind. I remember once her primary teacher, Mrs. Ainsworth, telling us Hermione stood up to a group of girls who were bullying a younger student. She said Hermione was brave...Tell us, where are you going tomorrow when we leave for the airport?"

Hermione was growing used to her parents' odd mental turns, but she could see that Draco had not been prepared for this. He took a gulp of wine and brushed his mouth carefully with his napkin, pointedly avoiding Hermione's stare.

"Well, Dr. Granger, I am escorting Hermione to the Weasleys' home. I believe you've met them. Mrs. Tonks will be there with her grandson, and so will Harry Potter. They miss Hermione very much." Hermione watched Draco's jaw muscles flex with the effort of avoiding her gaze, and trying to say these words rather than spit them.

Hermione didn't break her stare. "I thought you said we were going different places."

Draco still refused to look at her. "Potter asked that you not travel alone yet. Wartime travel cautions still in effect. I agreed. I will leave you there and pick you up on Boxing Day."

"Well, that leaves you traveling alone, doesn't it?"

"I imagine you won't be shocked to learn Potter is not wringing his hands about my safety." Draco smirked.

"Where will you be? At home?"

"Cnoc Mhoire."

"The what?"

Hermione took a sip of wine and glanced at her parents, who were now watching them both.

"That is the name of Professor McGonagall's home. She overheard me talking to Weasley and asked me to join her and Professor Sprout." He braved a look at Hermione and smiled when he saw the look of shock on her face as she coughed lightly, choking on her wine. "Trust me, I am perhaps more surprised than you."

Hermione shook her head and frowned. "I wasn't prepared to go. I don't have anything for..."

Draco waved his hand. "Parvati told me you were shopping for your friends. I took the liberty of picking up some things for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," he looked privately pained. "I assure you, you won't show up empty handed." Hermione had a string of questions fighting for her tongue, but her mother smiled and spoke.

"Well, that sounds lovely. Why did you arrange it, Draco? Wouldn't Hermione have done it?"

A cloud passed over Draco's face. "I believe she had planned to spend Christmas with her parents."

Nina Granger looked confused. He continued, "But when her plans were changed, I wanted the next best thing. The Weasleys love your daughter, Dr. Granger. She would not have asked to come, but they are looking forward to seeing her."

Draco cooly appraised the puzzled look on their faces. He took in a breath, and made his face brighten. He leaned over to Hermione's mother, and addressed her gently, "Hermione bought a chocolate gâteau at the bakery today. It looks delicious. Should we fetch some coffee for you?"

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts and mechanically began to clear the table. The Grangers sat frozen, letting Draco and their daughter move plates and glasses. Draco steeled himself for the privacy the kitchen afforded Hermione. He sighed. "I hope you aren't angry."

Hermione shook her head slowly. "No, Draco. I'm not. This week has been the best it could have been. You have been kinder to me than I ever thought possible. I do miss the Weasleys. I am not sure about seeing Ron, but I can't ignore everyone I love because of that."

Draco leaned in and kissed her until she wondered if they would be missed in the dining room.

Dessert left everyone in their own thoughts. Hermione felt that they could all blame the cake. It was delicious.

Hermione's parents went to bed early, citing the long day tomorrow and the even longer flight to follow it. Draco and Hermione waved their wands over the dishes and retreated to the couch. Holding both her hands in his, Draco pulled Hermione down to sit, straddling his lap, her legs folded on either side of his. She flushed and looked up at the ceiling, as though her parents could see through their floor.

Draco shook his head and looked at her in the way that made her stomach flutter. "Now, look, Granger. I wanted you to have a happy Christmas, and I will be damned if you don't, but now that my little secret is out, I need to make sure you don't forget about me when you are with Weasel." He cupped her head in his hands and moved her face to meet his in a kiss. Hermione snaked her freed hands around the back of his neck, toying with the soft hair at his nape. Hermione was dizzy with want, each of his kisses leaving her expecting more. He broke away from her mouth and nibbled at her neck, whispering to her between feathering kisses along her jaw. "When...you...see...Weasley...think...of...me..."

Without thinking, Hermione rocked her hips into him, and Draco growled, covering her mouth with his again. He flipped her easily onto her back and crouched over her, kissing her collarbone, flicking a button open on her blouse.

"My parents," she murmured.

"...didn't notice I shared your bed last night. But maybe I'd like to get caught with you. See how they feel about that," he murmured, kissing down her neck to the hollow between her breasts. Hermione was flooded with desire, but her heart ached at the thought of her parents, still. Draco felt her stiffen just slightly, and he smiled gently, deftly buttoning two buttons while giving her a chaste kiss on her lips. He lifted her to her feet, and swiftly walked her to her room.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

"Oh, Draco, I'm sor..."

"No, don't apologize for how you feel. It's one of the things I like about you most. But I am very serious. I want you to think of _that_ when you are with _him_."

Hermione tittered. "I won't be able to stop thinking of...that."

Draco muttered, ruefully, "That makes two of us, Granger."

On the morning of Christmas Eve, Hermione woke up to the smell of turkey roasting in the oven. She blinked at her clock, incredulous about the length of her lie-in.

She saw no sign of Draco; the guest room was open, and the bedding was stripped and folded neatly at the foot of the bed. His trunk was packed. She showered and made her way downstairs. Draco was placing a gift under the tree, gingerly, as if it might explode.

He stood up quickly when he heard her enter.

"Happy Christmas Eve, Draco." She crossed the room and put her hands on his shoulders, lifting herself up to give him a peck on the mouth. He slid an arm around her waist.

"And to you. Toast and tea? Your mother is starting dinner already."

Hermione went into the kitchen and greeted her parents, who each gave her a convincingly pleasant hug.

She and Draco had done a thorough job of prepping today's meal, and her appreciative parents decided to use the spare time to finish some last minute packing. Hermione's heart pulled for them. She called out to them as they left the kitchen, "Do the Wilkinses have lots of friends in Sydney?"

Her father gripped the stair rail. "Yes. It won't be hard to pretend a bit. You didn't make us very different."

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"We know." Hermione's father nodded and left the room.

The meal of familiar holiday dishes made her homesick and comforted in turns, and as they picked at the last bits of mince pie, her father pointed to the tree and grinned.

"Hermione, it looks like Father Christmas has visited us early."

Hermione smiled at her father's words. It was almost as if he had felt them as much as he remembered what to say. She wanted to believe that was true. She knelt down to the tiny tree and pulled out a present for her mother. She'd picked it out in a bookshop in London; it was an illustrated book on the birds of Australia. She'd gotten her father a quality pair of binoculars, and the couple admired the gifts, chatting about places they might go birdwatching. They had given Hermione a stack of moeny for new clothing; she was dismayed at first that they hadn't picked anything for her, but she caught herself remembering her recent forays into Hogsmeade, and gave thanks for the welcome funds. They had also given Draco a small present, a handsome fountain pen.

His father smiled at Draco, who was obviously very pleased. Thomas Granger nodded at the box, "It's a bit tricky to use a quill on a hospital chart, I would expect, if you want to be a doc...a Healer, is it?"

Draco nodded and noticed Hermione's raised eyebrows. He flushed slightly. "Your parents asked me about my plans after Hogwarts. Thank you for the pen."

Hermione smiled carefully and realized with a pang of surprise Draco had told them something she herself had not known. There was still so much more to know about him, she mused.

The largest package was still left under the tree. Draco ignored their unspoken protocol about magic and levitated it to Hermione's parents. "This is from me. No, actually it isn't, really. This is from her school friends. For you."

Her parents looked curiously at Draco's serious face and nodded. They peeled off the paper to reveal a photo album. They slowly opened it to the first spread. On the left was a wizarding photograph of Hermione with Harry. They were dancing at Bill's wedding; Hermione was laughing, her head thrown back as Harry spun her around. To the right was a letter from Harry.

_ I picked this photograph because we'd both forgotten, for a moment, where we were going and what we had to do. When we were alone in the tent, I would sometimes think about this, and hope we would get back here. I fell in love with your daughter when I was eleven, though I am sure I wouldn't have called it that, then. We'd just fought a troll. She is the best sister I could have asked for. She has always been a friend when I needed one, and she never faltered in her faith in me. I will always love her._

_ I am so glad you are safe._

_ Fondly,_

_ Harry Potter_

Her parents stared at this for a moment, and carefully turned the page. The next photograph was of Luna Lovegood, arms gesturing wildly while Hermione struggled to smother a laugh.

_Dear Parents of Hermione Granger,_

_ In this attached photograph, I am teaching Hermione about the restorative properties of the dabblerblimp. You can see that your daughter is regretfully skeptical. Despite her lack of belief in all true things seen and unseen, your daughter is a kind friend, one of the few at Hogwarts who could hold an opinion and yet refrain from gossip or cruelty. She cares for those who cannot defend themselves. I loved her when she believed in us to help Harry fight Lord Voldemort, giving us each a coin to bring us together as one. She made me feel like I had friends. I will always love her rational mind in the face of evil which has no logic._

_ My mother left me too soon. I am glad you could come back. Be careful of the billywig in Sydney. Permanent floating sounds pleasant at first, but I am told it is tiresome over time._

_ Luna Lovegood_

There were photographs from Dean, George, Neville, Parvati...It was overwhelming. Hermione blinked back tears as her mother read these aloud, puzzled and quietly thoughtful in turns. She was so lost in feeling that she didn't notice the fresh tears on her mother's face. Her father looked stricken.

"We will miss you, Hermione, but we will come back. To stay."

Hermione nodded slowly. "I will miss you too, Dad."

They looked torn, but nodded and went to their rooms to gather their things. Hermione looked up at Draco, who was chewing his lip and looking out the window.

"Thank you."

He cautioned a look at her and nodded, wordlessly. Hermione wondered at the flood of thoughts that made his face appear that way, stormy and tense. She supposed she would find out, soon enough.

* * *

In a numb blur of fumbled goodbyes and luggage, Hermione found herself in the back garden, on Christmas Eve, with a packed trunk and no family, leaning against Draco. He lifted his chin resolutely and smiled instructively, waiting for her to copy him. "Now, here is the plan. You take these," he waved his wand and summoned a wicker hamper and a wrapped parcel, thrusting them into her arms.

"What are these?"

"For Mr. and Mrs. Weasley."

"What are...?"

Draco set his jaw. "Food hamper. Fortnum and Mason's. They take orders by owl, in case you ever need to know. The package," he looked in the distance annoyed at something unseen, "is an electric drill. I have it on good advice that this present will be well received for some mad reason, so please do me a favor and leave my name out of it."

Hermione tried to speak, but Draco cut over her, as though he would lose the speech if he were interrupted, "...and we are apparating together to the...Burrow." He stopped himself short of rolling his eyes. "I leave you, and I will come back to get you after breakfast, at nine on Boxing Day...If you still want to come to the Manor, that is."

Hermione nodded, resolutely. "I do."

Draco swallowed. "Well, that's that, then. Shall we? I would like you to lead. I've never had the pleasure of visiting the Weasleys," he said with the hint of a sneer, "and I don't think St. Mungo's is well-staffed for a splinching today."

Hermione took his arm, and they disapparated.

The Burrow tottered cheerfully against the blue skies of Ottery St. Catchpole. Hermione glanced at Draco, who looked taken aback at the towering structure.

"Merlin," she heard him mutter under his breath. He strode purposefully forward, Hermione supposed, to get this meeting over with. She saw Ron from a distance, standing out in the front garden, tossing grain to the chickens wandering free on this unseasonably warm day. He straightened when he saw the pair, and walked swiftly to meet them.

"Hermione!" Ron shoved his hands in his pockets, pulled them out, balled them into fists and then moved to hug her, with a tentative smile on his face. He glanced at Draco, who was quietly staring him down. "Malfoy," he nodded, curtly.

Draco inclined his head in a barely perceptible acknowledgement. "Weasley."

Hermione squirmed with discomfort. She peeled away from Ron's arms and stood firmly in front of Draco. "Thank you, for everything." She leaned into him and kissed him gently on the mouth, noticing the scrape of Ron's boots on the pea gravel had fallen silent. She pulled away and saw Draco give her a private, slow smile. He leaned down to her ear and whispered, "Don't forget me," and straightened up to give Weasley a familiar sneer with a new veneer of smugness layered over it. She pointedly avoided Ron's face.

"The 26th, then. Happy Christmas, Hermione." Draco turned on the spot and disappeared.


	29. Protego

Hermione considered the space where Draco had stood and then turned to face Ron. He was looking thunderous. Hermione took her mind to a place where she was sitting on a woven mat, breathing out her anger. She looked at Ron, really looked at him, and took in his handsome face clouded with jealousy, and worry, and fear. And love. She poured all the love she had for her friend into a fierce hug.

"Happy Christmas, Ron. I've missed you." She felt his rigid frame soften, and he drew her close, burying his face in her curls. He pulled away in a reluctant, sad smile.

"I've missed you too," he sighed. "More than you know."

He looked over her head at the sun, which had begun its rapid descent over the hills. He squinted, as if he were deciding what words he shouldn't say.

"I needed to see it, I guess. To believe it. Malfoy?" he, growled his name, and leveled a challenging look at her.

"Yes. He's changed," Hermione judged the lameness of her words as they rang in her ears, but it was the truth, or as much of it as she cared to share with Ron.

"I should bloody well hope so," he muttered, and he levitated her trunk, stopping to hold out his hand for her to take. She took it and leaned reassuringly into him, as he led her into the cheerful warmth of the Burrow.

As many times as Hermione had stepped over the threshold of the Weasley's home, she was always underprepared for the flurry and hum of so many people. She knew, from the weeks following the war, that the Burrow would be subdued, but she still found herself shrinking into the wall. Ron knew this about her, and he drew her forward, not letting go as he called out, "Hermione is here!" Fleur and Bill looked up from peeling potatoes and beamed at her. Mrs. Weasley freed her hands from a sink of suds and wiped them on her apron, rushing over to crush Hermione in a hug. Ron's mother stepped back slightly, holding Hermione's face in her hands, looking at her searchingly.

"It is all so hard, isn't it, Hermione?" This caught her off-guard, and tears burned her eyes. She nodded, blinking quickly, and the two women embraced, wordlessly, in the middle of the kitchen, Fleur silently shifting to levitate a dirty stewpot into the suds. Mr. Weasley entered the kitchen and put a hand on Ron's shoulder. Mrs. Weasley pulled away, wiping her eyes on her apron, and Mr. Weasley gave Hermione a swift side hug, planting a fatherly kiss on the top of her head. Hermione was struck just then with how much Ron resembled Mr. Weasley, and how broken she had felt when Ron kissed her hair in the back of Fred and George's shop. It felt like years ago.

This was all so hard, indeed, thought Hermione, but to her, it felt right to be sad with the Weasleys. It seemed the natural way of things, after an odd, stilted week with her parents.

"Thank you for having me, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley." Molly waved this off and Arthur winked at her, patting her gently on the shoulder. She looked around and met Ron's face. "Is George around?" Ron inclined his head toward the living room and turned back to the door, and the chickens.

Hermione found George in the living room, knees drawn up to his chest, head back on a mustard yellow cushion, snoring softly. His eyes were rimmed with purple shadows. Hermione supposed it was easier for him to sleep here, with the hum of noise and comforting voices. She turned away, so intent on being silent that she missed his snoring halt.

"'Mione, whas' this business I hear 'bout you an' Ferret Malfoy?" George called out, his voice still thick with sleep. She grinned to herself. Only George could ever get away with talking like this, even if she knew he meant it. The weeks after the war drew them rapidly together, when she showed herself unafraid of his brutal grief. She turned and leaned over him, giving him a soft peck on the jaw at a safe distance from his ear, which she knew to be sensitive to odd noises. She kicked off her shoes and settled herself on the other end of the couch.

"What business is that, George?"

"Well, Harry says you went to a ball with him."

"Harry is right."

George's eyes widened. "Always the quiet ones; always the quiet ones. Hermione, are you angry with Ron?"

Hermione scowled. "Are you suggesting that I am arranging my personal life to make Ron upset? Do you think that little of me?"

George flinched under her glare. "So...that's a 'no,' then? What other reason is there to date that git?"

Hermione pursed her lips and yanked the quilt off of George, snuggling into it. "He is not a git. He has been lovely to me, and he didn't have to be," A mischievous grin played at her face. "And he snogs," she purred slowly, "...like a _champion_, George. The things that boy can do with his..."

"Merlin, Hermione. Stop. Sorry. Just. No. Okay, I shall never speak of it again."

Hermione chuckled and peeked at George over her knees. "I do like him, George. He is likable. And he fancies me."

"Well, fancying you isn't difficult. We always thought Ron was touched in the head, ignoring you and wandering off with Lavender."

"Now you sound like my mother." They both snorted darkly, needing to laugh but stumbling so easily on memories and regrets, strewn everywhere. "Tell me about Angelina, George."

George rested his head on the cushion and stared out the window. "She's still coming to help at the shop. I insisted after the first week on paying her. Last week, it was full-time."

"She likes you, George."

"She fancied Fred."

"Both those things can be true."

George clamped his mouth shut, and worked his lips in thought. He looked at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. "She kissed me, before we went home for Christmas."

"Well, you are very handsome."

"You sound like Mum."

Hermione grinned.

"Talking about Bill," George nodded, seriously.

Hermione giggled and threw a cushion at George, smacking him in the side of the face. He grabbed his head and started pulling at the couch cushions, searching for something.

"Merlin, Hermione! My ear! You've knocked it loose!" He showed her the hole as though it were new, feigning shock.

"You are my favorite idiot, George."

"I can't wait to tell ickle Ronnikins I took his title."

"My title for what?" Ron had come in to the living room and collapsed into a chair.

"Largest prat. You'd think someone could best you, just the once," George smirked, holding up his hands in defense as Ron shoved him with his foot.

Ron looked over at Hermione. "I was going to take a walk before Harry and Ginny showed up. Join me?"

Hermione nodded and used George's knee to push herself up, giving it an affectionate squeeze on her way. George grabbed the quilt back and nestled down into the couch with a sleepy smirk.

"Does your mum need help with dinner?"

"No, I helped her all morning. She's in her element - cornered Bill and Fleur, demanding grandchildren, I expect."

They let themselves out and wandered into the garden.

"How is Auror training?"

"Good, thanks. We are still looking for some straggling Voldemort supporters. Kingsley takes us out; we still have to do all the mandatory training - health and safety - but he figures we have had our share of tracking and defense experience already. I guess those who knew that _The Prophet_ hid Voldemort's return don't want to believe its reports that he is as dead as a rotted stump." Ron shrugged. "Gets a little interesting, some days."

Hermione sighed. "I worry about you. And Harry."

Ron looked like he'd had this very discussion with his mother multiple times. "We are careful."

Hermione nodded that away. "I worry that you are fighting too much."

Ron let this go. They walked silently for several minutes, with the crunching of the dead leaves under their feet the only conversation between them.

"George looks a little better," Hermione said.

"For you. You are one of the few who doesn't tiptoe around him. He was working hard for you today. Angelina is coming around more. Think that will help."

"Well, thank you for giving me some time with him, then."

Ron looked guarded. "I needed to put the chickens away. And clear my head."

Hermione looked sideways at him. His cool face gave way to tension; his cheeks were flushing from more than the crisp air of the late afternoon.

"Ron, are you angry with me?"

"That would be easy, Hermione. No. I'm angry with...Merlin, I don't even know. I don't like the way it is with us, now. I thought...I thought you'd wait for me. That you would come back to me."

"Ron, we were never...there isn't a thing to come back to. There never was. I mean it. I am done fighting. I want another life."

"You don't have to..."

"You don't think a soldier's wife isn't there at every battle? I am done. Done. It is painful enough for me to worry about Harry and you as it is."

"So you fall in love with a coward."

Hermione planted her feet and turned to face Ron. She knew the grief on his face well, and forgave him as the words tumbled from his mouth. She spoke aloud, but to herself, "The more I forgive, the easier it gets." She closed her eyes, deciding to let the hurtful truths that bubbled to her mouth stay there. She couldn't tell him that fighting Death Eaters was doing a poor job of soothing his soul, or bringing Fred back; that it was necessary work, but that he didn't need to be anyone's hero, the front page story above the fold, to be loved, to be enough. She breathed two calm breaths. "Draco arranged for me to come here today with you and Harry, didn't he?"

"Yes," Ron growled.

"Would you have done that for me, Ron?"

He looked at her with so much longing, it made her chest hurt.

"Don't compare me to _him_."

"I don't. I ask for empathy. For me, to start. Don't compare him to you, or to Harry, or to Neville, or to anyone. We all had our own war. We all have had our own, personal consequences. I need, more than anything, to let go of some of this," Hermione shouted the last, "...or I will drown." She stood her ground, shivering.

Ron stared at her for what felt like minutes, searching her face.

Hermione whispered, "It's going to have to be enough that I love you. Like this. It's all I have."

Ron gathered her in a hug, holding her until the sun set firmly behind them. When he let go, he peeled off his woolen jumper and wrapped it around her shoulders, tenderly gathering her hair up out of the way. He put his arm around her, and walked her back to greet Harry and Ginny.


	30. Baubillious

Ron and Hermione made it back in time to greet Percy and Charlie, both of whom said their hellos and then went in search of George. George had told her in a random letter at the start of term that Percy was sending him food parcels and visiting every spare moment he had, and a few he hadn't to spare, for George was unnerved one day to see Percy at his door at noon, having shrugged off work for the day. Mr. Weasley was put in the unfamiliar position of needing to cajole Percy back to his desk at the Ministry. Hermione thought Percy was adrift more than Fred's twin, and she knew the family as a unit was fretting over them in turns. Charlie continued his work in Romania, but he and Bill were a steadying presence for Percy, and Charlie had made an effort to come home frequently.

Ron and she poked their heads in the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley had spent the day here; she was cooking enough for them to eat without fuss on Christmas Day as well. Hermione ignored her protests and set to chopping vegetables for gravy. She thought of Draco, cooking with her at home, and stacked the matchsticks of carrot, evenly mincing them with the sharpest knife she could find. She was so intent on her task that she paid the door no mind when it banged open, but she could not ignore Mrs. Weasley's shrill cry of delight at the arrival of her daughter and Harry.

Harry accepted a hug from Mrs. Weasley, but he extracted himself easily, leaving Ginny to be fussed over by her mother. He and Ron clapped each other on the back, and Harry grabbed Hermione and spun her around.

"Glad you are here," Harry murmured to her. "Happy Christmas. It is going to be better than our last one...at least in some ways...we will be fed, anyway," he sighed, looking at Fred's empty chair at the table.

"That is a low bar, Harry. A very low bar. You were furious with me last year, if I recall. I'm glad to see you are eating." Harry would always be slim, Hermione predicted, but it was good to run her hand down his back and feel muscle over his ribs.

"Yes, well, we have some more catching up to do," and Harry leaned over the table and popped a cheese puff in his mouth. "I craved cheese last year. It's ridiculous. Ginny is horrified now when we get takeaway. What's yours?" he said, mid-chew.

"Toast."

"Toast?" Ron was incredulous. "Of all the things we missed, you missed toast?"

Hermione shrugged. "We could never get it just right. And it always tasted of the fire."

"Toast," Harry shook his head.

Hermione ran her hand absently over the back of what was Fred's chair, dipping a toe into new waters, setting a thought adrift to watch it bob away. "I realized it when Draco would set it out for me at breakfast. He noticed it first. Toast."

She smiled softly to herself and looked up in time to see her friends had been exchanging guarded looks. Hermione remembered Draco's gift to her parents.

"Well, while I've mentioned him, I want to thank you, Harry, and you, Ron, for the photographs and the letters. It was so overwhelmingly lovely, I couldn't absorb it all. But my parents did, some. I think it may have brought them back towards me. I'm writing each one of you, but I just...thank you." Hermione's shining eyes started to spill tears. Harry was never comfortable with weeping, but Ron was used to his mother, and seeing her pain these last months, and it was with that familial tenderness that he wrapped her in his arms.

"Hey," he whispered. "We never said those things properly before, and we can't say them enough. We both love you. You will always have a family." Ron spoke to her like he was comforting a frightened child. To Hermione, who was the sensible one, who felt the burden of being cool-headed and rational, it was a gift. She hugged him hard and grabbed for Harry, who hugged her with a deep sigh.

"We are here," Harry murmured to her. "I am so grateful."

Hermione pulled away with a shuddery breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. With the other, she picked up a cheese puff and popped it in Harry's mouth.

"Ha, I don't think he needs help getting food to his mouth. Hiya, Hermione," Ginny smiled, red-eyed, having just peeled away from her mother, who was wiping her eyes on her apron once more.

"Ginny," Hermione smiled back. Ginny looked much older than in Hermione's memories. Pale from her conversation with her mother, the youngest Weasley's grief gave her a noble, haunting beauty that was striking. If her Quidditch fame continued on its sharp trajectory, Hermione thought, Harry was going to see what it felt like to be with someone awash in lovestruck admirers.

"You look beautiful, Ginny. Quidditch must suit you."

Ginny grinned. "Thanks. We all look a bit healthier this year, but that isn't saying much."

They turned to the food and began to pick at it until Mrs. Weasley set them tasks for dinner. The meal was quiet. The young people were hungry, and they all felt a gnawing loss at the absence of Fred, who would have been loud and jolly. Hermione easily skipped meals when she was upset, but she was able to tuck in today. There was nothing to be anxious about now. She loved Fred, and he was gone. She wasn't lost, or angry, or wondering. It just was.

She comforted Mrs. Weasley by staying in the kitchen with Ginny, Ron, and Harry, willingly torturing themselves with the Christmas music on the wireless, each sentimental lyric mocking their grief or echoing it too perfectly. They washed up peacefully, and finished the preparations for tomorrow. No one wanted Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen, hiding away, on Christmas.

It was awkward, the four of them trudging up the stairs after, Ginny snuggling into Harry, the pair eager for a private kiss, and Hermione helped it all along by turning in early. She curled up in Ginny's room, alone for now, peeling away the day like an onion, examining each layer. She tried to remember what fancying Ron felt like. She couldn't. Draco had been teasing in his husky voice, challenging her to remember him, hadn't he? Or was it a charm? All she could remember was Draco Malfoy's lips on hers, taking what she would offer, promising her things she wanted very much. For the first time in ages, she prayed for sleep with dreams.

Hermione awoke on Christmas Day to the gentle tap of a regal owl on the diamond window of Ginny's bedroom. Ginny wasn't in bed. Hermione had heard her creep in, but she supposed she woke early to be with Harry. A private Christmas. Hermione eased open the latch and the owl hopped in, holding out its leg. The parchment was for her.

_Merry Christmas, Hermione-_

_ I am at McGonagall's. They had me out chopping wood yesterday. Not unlike detention, though I was allowed the use of my wand. The house is small but beautiful, in a wild, lonely hillside of rock far north. The border collie on the estate is Shelia. She doesn't warm me up like you can, but it's not for a lack of trying; she used my chest as her dog bed last night. My left arm is numb._

_ Sprout will not stop about Neville. The Boy Who Lived In The Greenhouses. I hope he does take her job. It will kill her if he doesn't. Over dinner, she told a joke so naughty I almost choked on my haggis (not difficult)._

_ McGonagall pulling out Christmas crackers and whiskey. At eight in the morning. Pray for me. _

_ Yours,_

_ Draco x_

Hermione giggled and rocked in her camp bed. She went over to Ginny's desk and found a quill and parchment, and a dusty-looking owl treat. Hermione offered it up to the scowling owl, who poked at it with a claw.

_ Hi, you._

_ Happy Christmas, Draco. I had a dream last night. A good one. You were in it. I didn't need a dog to keep me warm, as it turns out. If you are nice, I'll tell you about it sometime. __It's hard being here without Fred, but it feels right to be here and be sad with them all. Thank you for arranging it. It means everything. I will never forget it. __Careful with the whiskey. I never saw Professor McGonagall touch the stuff, but she is an impressive witch in many ways._

_ See you tomorrow,_

_ Yours,_

_ Hermione x_

_ x (an extra for showing up in Dreamland)_

The owl accepted the note, kicked the petrified treat off the ledge to the ground, and soared north. Hermione showered and dressed, and found the Weasleys and Harry finishing up breakfast. Ron gave her a knowing look and handed her a plate of toast with a small smile. The door to the kitchen creaked open and Mrs. Tonks, cradling a wide-eyed Teddy, greeted the gathering crowd. Hermione's heart gave an unexpected pull again when she thought of Remus and Nymphadora, and all the Christmases yet to come. Harry scooped his godson into his arms. Teddy was at the age of being unnerved by strangers, but Harry wasn't one; he babysat frequently, and Hermione could begin to see flashes of the doting father he would become. He held the solid boy on his forearm, and began to fly him around the room like an aeroplane. Andromeda gratefully accepted a cup of tea from Mrs. Weasley, and the family wandered into the living room to open presents before Teddy's morning nap.

Parvati was a good spy; Hermione had bought presents for George, Ginny, Ron, and Harry. The rest wouldn't expect one, but Draco was thorough in his plan, and Hermione was relieved to present her hosts with gifts.

It embarrassed her and amused her in equal parts to see them open presents she had not seen yet herself, picked out by Draco Malfoy, of all people. She felt sheepish keeping her word and accepting full credit for his selections. Molly was delighted with the food hamper from the upscale Muggle grocer; it had beautiful preserves and pickles and wines neither she nor any country wizard probably had seen. Arthur was pleased with his electric drill; she heard him whispering to Bill about a generator in the shed. Hermione hoped for a knitted sweater and wasn't disappointed, she'd worn a lightweight top this morning to accommodate one, and this was her favorite so far, a pale, steely blue cardigan with mother-of-pearl buttons.

The sadness of Fred's absence was distracted by the charm of baby Teddy, crawling through the piles of wrapping paper, batting at the tree, cooing at his rapt audience. Hermione let herself be lulled into a peaceful harmony with the family, joined in tradition and love, struggling through loss. The day floated by like this, grazing on snacks and sandwiches, sipping cider, playing quiet card games. When Teddy fell asleep on Harry's chest soundly enough to be put in his travel cot, Harry led the lot out for an easy fly on their brooms, insisting that Hermione fly but making room for her to sit with him. The air was bracing and raw, but it felt wonderful after the warm, dozy afternoon. They flew for an hour, playing a gentle game of catch, with rules made in the air as they went. Fred was missing here too; George without his twin was only half of a strategy that had been wordless and fluid. They all felt it, and each pushed through to love each other and the simple pleasures of fellowship, but as the sky grew too dark to play, Hermione knew they all felt relief at being closer to marking this day over in their diaries, the first Christmas without their Fred.

The evening was spent together, watching the fire and swapping news. Everyone wanted to hear about Neville and Hannah's engagement, and Fleur and Mrs. Weasley began to plan a bridal shower out loud. Ron and Harry were interested in hearing more about their school friends, and Andromeda smiled fondly at Hermione's little stories about Dean, knowing that he was the last to befriend her late husband. The talk grew practical, Mr. Weasley and Percy sharing news of the Ministry, reconstruction of buildings, alliances, and trust. Hermione watched Ginny, curled up in her own chair, eyes flickering with the reflection of the fire. She wondered what her plans were, and Hermione wondered what she herself would say if anyone asked the same of her. Tonight was a coda, and she wondered what the new music would sound like, making it up as they went, like the rules of the garden games. The family drifted eventually to bed, to prepare for the day after Christmas, the end of a wretched year.

Boxing Day was grey and menacing. In the night, Hermione had thought she was entering a nightmare, but the rumbling noise was real, thunder that erupted into wet snow which pelted the ground and melted as it hit. She had woken early, slipping out to shower and dress before Ginny awoke. She made her way down to the kitchen, and met Harry, sitting alone with a cup of tea. He summoned one for her.

"I didn't get you alone yesterday," Hermione said, softly.

Harry nodded. "None of them are ghosts, but sometimes I feel surrounded. Remus, Sirius, my parents, Fred. They have gone on, but I feel them, sometimes. I wasn't alone at all yesterday. Sometimes it's soothing. Yesterday it was...there are just so many." He stared at the wall opposite him, not seeing.

Hermione nodded.

Harry gave her a piercing look. "I couldn't sleep. Today. You are leaving today?"

"This morning, yes."

Harry nodded, tightly. "I won't say I understand. I trust you. But I am worried for you. That place..."

Hermione nodded. "Yes. It's brick and stone. There isn't a dark object within ten miles of that place anymore. I don't know what to expect, but I am not afraid, and I want to go. He went with me. He didn't ask me to come; he is afraid for me to, I think. But I am not afraid."

Harry looked back at the wall, his voice flat. "Your house was not as grim as his will be, I expect."

Hermione sat for a moment. "But it was my suffering. That made it worse, even though the house was cheery and tidy, and my bed was made and waiting. I want to do this for him. Harry, I can't honestly say why; it's not even, is it? But I want to. I want to feel it. I want to know more about him."

Harry nodded, less in agreement than in acknowledgement. "You can come to Grimmauld Place at any time. Or send a Patronus and I will come to you. Promise me you will, if anything feels wrong."

Hermione owed him this. "I promise, Harry."

Hermione sat with him, in silent fellowship, eating her perfect toast, calmly sipping her strong tea. She washed her dishes and retreated to pack, seeming to avoid Ron easily; probably, she assumed, because he was avoiding her.

At nine exactly, there was a firm knock at the door. Mr. Weasley let Draco in with a cooly polite greeting. He was wearing a tartan pocket cap which he pulled off as he came in. He held a bouquet of bayberry, roses, and evergreen, and he offered it up to Mrs. Weasley with his wishes for a happy Boxing Day; she smiled, cautiously disarmed by his quiet gesture. He nodded to Harry - and Ron, who came down, Hermione thought, against his want, to say goodbye to her. Draco smiled at Hermione. Hermione hugged them all goodbye in turn, and he levitated her trunk out into the damp yard.

Hermione looked up at him. He squinted, and put on a pair of black sunglasses, which only highlighted his pallor.

"Isn't it a little dark out for sunglasses?"

"Hangover tonic taking a bit long to kick in. You were too right about Minerva. And say what you want about the Hufflepuffs, but their Head of House drank me under the table last night. I am, in their educated and august opinions, a pathetic lightweight." He swallowed, carefully.

Hermione giggled. "Minerva, is it now?"

Draco grinned, his eyes concealed behind the dark lenses. "Indeed. Minerva and Pomona have exacted their revenge, and I am now greater by two terrifying friends. They know I am theirs, because I am very afraid of what will happen next if I ever cross them again."

Hermione shook her head and laughed.

"Shhhh. Not so loud, if you please. I feel the potion kicking in. I just need a kiss to make it better."

Hermione stuck her tongue in her cheek. "A kiss, then."

Draco moaned softly. "It's terrible, Hermione. Save me." A smile was playing at the corner of his mouth, and it was there that Hermione kissed him.

"You are going to have to do better than that. I'm _dying_, Granger."

And Hermione kissed him, and it was just as she had tried to remember, but memories couldn't match his intensity. His scent overwhelmed her, and she tingled with the touch of him, shocks coursing through her body.

"Well, that was the start of my dream, Draco."

He shivered. "You women all want to kill me, don't you?" He smirked. "As much as I enjoy snogging you breathless in the Weasleys' garden, I suppose we should be moving on. Are you ready?" He steeled himself with a sharp breath.

She nodded, and he pulled her close again and spun away from the Burrow.


	31. Evanesco

**A/N: Thank you to those who have been following and reviewing this story. I appreciate each one of you. I slowed down on my updates because I have joined the Quidditch FanFiction League for Puddlemere United. My first fic for them, "The Longest of Days," is up. I invite you to go check it out and give it a review, if you'd like. To make up for my pace, I wrote a long chapter today. I hope you like it!**

The clouds reached low in the sky over the grassy plain. Hermione looked behind her and saw what she could only suppose was Malfoy Manor rising up from the empty swath of countryside.

"Where are we, exactly?"

"North and a bit west of Stonehenge. That was ours, once, by the way." Hermione noticed the faint trace of smugness in his voice.

"Isn't this area off-limits for military training? No roads run through here."

Draco gave her a polite but meaningful look.

Hermione smirked. "How much did that cost?"

"King Hal married and buried his fifth wife, thanks to the Malfoys. We paid off Edward VIII, too. Never backed a winner, but we Malfoys have always been comfortable getting our hands dirty. Figuratively speaking, of course. It's been useful enough for Muggles to leave us be. For now." Draco kicked at the chalky ground and squinted behind his sunglasses. "I feel like I want to warn you about what you are going to see, but I don't know, myself. Do you know how brave I think you are?" He looked down at her with a tender look that even through his sunglasses made the breath catch in her throat. Hermione tried to shake this off while staring at the massive house. "Well," he continued, smiling at her silence, "you are incredibly brave. And you may not need it here; I've no idea. But..." he stopped, "did Potter or Weasley set a rescue plan for you?" He turned, eyes covered and now unreadable, brow furrowed.

Hermione blushed. "Harry said to send a Patronus."

"I'd have said the same," he nodded, calmly. "If at any time, you want to go, we go. No questions asked. You can go home, or to Harry's," he pursed his lips at the name, "or anywhere you want. I need to come back. But I'll not see you trapped here again." He looked paler than when they left the Burrow, but he stood square-shouldered and tall, the master of his estate.

Hermione spoke. "I told Harry I wasn't afraid."

"Well, love, you are braver than me."

"Can you Floo into Malfoy Manor?" Hermione wondered, watching Draco levitate their trunks to the door.

"Used to be able, yes. We cut off from the Floo Network during the War. Ministry was reluctant to put it back up. I wouldn't have Floo'ed today, anyway. Wanted to talk a bit," he smiled at her shyly and flicked off his sunglasses. "Ahh, the potion's working. Thank Merlin. That's better." He looked down and smiled at her, moving closer, gently lowering their trunks to the ground.

"I think we should be on our way," said Hermione. "I don't know what to expect, but talking isn't going to help me, I don't think. How about this, though?" Hermione wrapped her arms around Draco and held him close in an embrace, taking calming breaths of him, finding comfort in his solidity, enjoying his touch.

"Mmmm." She could hear Draco breathing deeply. He must have had similar thoughts.

She pushed away and kissed his cheek, putting unsaid words into the warmth of her lips, and took over levitating their trunks. "Lead on."

She had been taken to the Manor before at night, sick with terror, and the menacing structure she expected didn't appear. Malfoy Manor was formidable, imposing but not chilling. The yew hedge sweeping across the front pushed them towards a pea gravel path leading to iron gates which swung open meekly at the presence of their young master.

"Why do you need a yew hedge in front of an unplottable house?" Hermione asked. She had decided she would ask any questions she wished, knowing Draco would find her inquisitiveness reassuringly normal.

"To look intimidating. This house is older than the Wizardry Secrecy Statute. It kept me from wandering off when I was small. Some areas nearby are actually used for Muggle military purposes."

Hermione surveyed the grounds. They looked less shabby, post-War, than she had expected, though some roses had been left to freeze black on their bushes. Draco stared at them, his face unreadable. "Damn. My mother loved those. Suppose Munro can try to cut them back before spring."

"Munro?"

"The Squib I brought here. Mother needs another human around, and he needs a residence and a salary. Does the groundskeeping. He was a gillie in our Highland estate before we sold it. Should probably ask him to take us fishing, while I'm thinking about it. Would cheer him up."

"When did you sell?"

"'Bout a year ago. Hosting a houseful," he grimaced, "gets costly. We had more staff here once. Before the War. Some fled." She saw that Draco was working at sounding matter-of-fact, but his eyes flicked sadly around the landscape.

They heard a scraping sound from behind the hedge. Draco called out for the groundskeeper, but getting no answer, he was forced to walk the length around the dense hedge. Hermione followed at a distance, levitating their trunks in front of her. He disappeared in the enclosure and Hermione entered after.

Hermione first took in Draco, his posture rigid, his fists balled. Narcissa Malfoy was stabbing at the ground with a narrow transplanting spade, a pile of burlap bags, their bulky contents tied up with twine, at her feet.

"Mother! Stop!"

Narcissa ignored him but kept at her frenzied digging. Draco grabbed at the spade, but she deftly pulled it out of reach. His shoulders slumped. "Mother. The ground is too hard here. It's chalk under turf. Please. Stop." His voice sounded hollow, his words filled with grief.

Narcissa paused to survey the lawn long enough to loosen the grip on the shovel, which Draco took and tossed aside. She muttered under her breath, "That's why the spell didn't work."

Hermione moved toward them and set the trunks down. She eyed Draco, who took her hand and said tonelessly, "Mother, may I present Miss Hermione Granger. Hermione, may I introduce my mother, Narcissa Malfoy."

"Mrs. Lucius Malfoy," his mother murmured, looking over the bags, frantically formulating her next plan.

The practiced warmth Hermione had prepared fizzled out of her. Cautiously, she nodded. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy. Thank you for having me to your beautiful home." She observed Narcissa's wild air, her chipped nails, the glint of polished silver peeking behind burlap. Hermione's eyes narrowed. "May we help you with your project?"

Narcissa gestured grandly at the pile. "So much gone. You might as well finish the job. Go ahead. Fill your trunk."

Draco looked furious and frightened. "Mother. You're acting mad. Hermione, I'm taking you to Harry's."

Hermione opened her trunk, keeping her eye on Narcissa and her wand, and pulled out a slim, elegantly wrapped green box. "Draco, if it isn't too much for you, I think I'll stay. Mrs. Malfoy, you may count your spoons all you wish, but I've no plans to leave with the family silver." She stepped forward and gently placed the box in Mrs. Malfoy's fair, blistered hands. With a flick of her own wand, Hermione slammed her trunk lid shut and levitated them both forward.

Draco pulled his eyes away from his mother and bolted after Hermione. Neither stayed to watch Narcissa Malfoy stare at the box, tentatively picking at the silver ribbon until it fell undone. Hermione knew she would. A Malfoy wouldn't turn away a prettily wrapped box. Hermione didn't need to watch Narcissa lift out her Christmas present, a luxurious pair of goatskin gauntlet gloves, silky soft yet meant for the garden, monogrammed _N__**M**__B_ in green stitching. Hermione did stop the moment Narcissa had taken them out of the box, and without turning back to her host, she called out, "I do hope you wear them next time you dig, but I'd rather you return your attentions to your garden. Your roses missed you, Mrs. Malfoy."

Draco gave one last mournful look over his shoulder at his mother and put his arm around Hermione's waist. "I am so sorry."

Hermione did not smile in reassurance, but her voice was light. "Draco, don't waste your apologies on things beyond you. I wanted to come. To be here for you. To learn things."

"Not pleasant things." Draco's jaw clenched.

Hermione leaned in and kissed the knot in his jaw like a wound. Draco smiled at her in spite of his anger at his mother.

They were greeted at the door to Malfoy Manor by a sturdy man with red hair aged white at the temples. His eyes were deep blue, and he wore a denim shirt under a fisherman vest, a kilt, and hiking boots. He rushed forward to greet them.

"Master Malfoy," he looked at Draco. "Ach, yer no' a wee bairn no more, _Mr. Malfoy_," the man corrected himself. Draco looked at him quietly, waiting for him to continue. "I tried t' lock up th' silver when she wouldn't listen t' reason, but, well, she has th' wand," he sighed.

Draco put his hand on the man's shoulder, and squeezed it, letting the words go. "Archibald Munro. Miss Hermione Granger."

Hermione held out her hand, and Munro took it. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Munro."

"Oh, jus' Munro, if you please, Miss Granger. Mr. Munro was m' da," Munro chuckled to himself, as if the joke were fresh. Hermione grinned.

Draco sighed. "See if you can't get it back inside, please. And maybe my mother as well."

"Will do, Mr. Malfoy."

Munro nodded to Hermione and set off toward the hedge enclosure.

Hermione turned to watch Draco fumble with the locks on the Manor. It occurred to her that Draco may not have ever opened this door for himself. She took the moment to look up at the grand façade and imagine what that must have been like. She could not. Draco opened the right of the two vast doors and walked in with Hermione, his hand at the small of her back. She gave him a moment to take in his home. Hermione had wondered if it would be dazzling or destroyed, but the Manor was disarmingly quiet; it didn't scream disaster nor did it ring out freshly tuned opulence. She followed Draco's eyes and took account of the burn hole in the Oriental rug, and the cracks in a repaired vase which held a sickly bouquet on a claw-footed table.

"At least she's not spending it all," Draco breathed to himself.

Two house elves peeked out from a doorway to their left. As they saw their new employer, they nodded, businesslike, and presented themselves.

"Welcome home, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco nodded. "Miss Granger, Jenks and Nomi."

The house elves nodded and bowed low, their fresh tea towels tied with green sashes.

"Hermione, please."

"No, thank you, Miss Granger. Dinner at seven, sir." The elves bowed and backed out.

"Thank you, Jenks." Draco smirked and smothered a laugh when he caught the look on Hermione's face. House elf rights, Miss Granger; let them decide what to call you."

Hermione huffed, "I haven't decided what to call you."

Draco snorted. "Fair enough. Let's get you settled."

They levitated their trunks to the vast second floor, and Draco steered them down the right-hand corridor, past a gauntlet of mutely appalled portraits, until they came to the last door on the left side. Draco opened it, revealing a large, bright, feminine room with a canopied bed and dressing table. Opposite, a small sitting area with two large upholstered chairs and a writing desk cozied up to a carved mantle on the far wall with a merrily crackling fire underneath. The room was a milky white, with silvery blue satin fabric throughout.

"Lovely! Blue, eh?" Hermione grinned.

"Maybe it was yellow last week. Maybe Nomi knows her colour-changing charms," Draco smiled. He looked relieved at her pleasure, walking over to a narrow door next to the fire opening up to a private bath, blue and white with a massive cast-iron tub. Hermione followed him and looked up from the bathroom doorway. She saw a paired door on the opposite wall, next to the bed.

"And where does that lead?"

Draco pinked a little. "Well, ah, it locks from your side, of course, but uh, that leads to my room." He cleared his throat, awkwardly.

Hermione raised her eyebrows and walked over to it. "What other houseguests have you entertained?"

Draco looked adorably flustered, Hermione thought. She wanted to milk it.

"None! Well, none in here. This was a bit girly for my mates. Um, Zabini, Nott. They've stayed. Flint. But in the room opposite this. It doesn't connect. I, um, thought you'd maybe think this was pretty; my mother always thought so, but we can move your tru -" Hermione decided the torture had gone on long enough and gave him a silencing kiss.

"It is very pretty, Draco. Let's continue the tour." She gave a little grin and he flushed and chuckled.

"I guess I underestimated what seeing you in this room would do to me," Draco flipped the lock on the door with his wand and opened it to reveal a room double the size of the last. Hermione judged the space to be equivalent to her Uncle Louis' Paris flat. As she had imagined - startled to realize she had been imagining it - Draco's room was dark and handsome, with green fabrics and wood-paneled walls. He settled his trunk on the floor at the foot of his bed and flicked his wand, unpacking in an instant.

Hermione walked the perimeter of the room, looking for the personal effects of childhood that Draco had sought out in her room in London. She frowned, and turned to Draco who was scowling at a photograph winking and blowing kisses at him from a silver frame. Hermione slid behind him and peeked around his arm.

"Is that Daphne Greengrass' little sister?"

"Yes," Draco grimaced. "My parents used to think them below our social set. Apparently my mother has reconsidered her options." He waved his wand and the frame vanished. Hermione leaned the side of her head against Draco's shoulder blades and looked toward a bank of windows. Her eyes alighted on a wicker dog bed in the corner.

"You have a dog?"

"Had."

"Oh, I am sorry, Draco. Did you lose him recently?"

"I didn't lose Quid. Know exactly where he went. In Nagini. The Dark Lord's retribution for my lack of desire to kill Dumbledore. I didn't want Quid to suffer. I killed him."

"How awful," Hermione said, sympathetically.

Draco waved her off with a pained face. "He also fed her Charity Burbage. She suffered first." Draco turned to face Hermione and vanished the dog bed with another wave of his wand. "I'm getting so much purging done," he said in a falsely light voice. They looked at each other, unsure of what to do next.

Hermione remembered what she was looking for. " Where are all of your things from...when you were a little boy?"

Draco nodded. "Trophies? Seashells? Quidditch models?"

"Yes! This looks as sterile as a hotel."

Draco pointed his wand at a wardrobe which flew open, releasing a box toward them. "I packed away everything I could from Voldemort. I didn't want to have him in here, crawling into my head any more than he already could." Avoiding the chairs or the bed, Draco and Hermione sat side by side, cross-legged on the floor. He handed the box to Hermione and leaned into her as she pulled out his childhood and laid it on the rug. There was a photo of a small Draco on a sailboat, his father's arm on his shoulder, both sporting matching pink cheeks. His mother was shaded by a parasol. Another picture of Draco, astride a massive horse, "Oh! You ride too!" Hermione exclaimed. Zabini and Draco, grinning in a garden, Draco pulling rabbit ears behind Zabini's head. A stuffed, well-hugged Hungarian Horntail, which Hermione scooped up and held protectively in her lap. A framed, autographed photo of the Puddlemere United team, a pocket knife, a medal from the Napoleonic Wars, a butterbeer cap. A snapshot of Theodore Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco, appearing to be at a summer camp, Theo and Draco holding bows; Crabbe grinning, holding up a shredded parchment target. Hermione pulled out more - a child's wristwatch, a wizarding camera, a dog collar. Draco took the dog collar out and shortened it with his wand, making a leather bracelet, which he put on. He pulled his cloak from the wardrobe and fished out a wand and put it in the box.

"That's your wand from school. The one Harry took from you."

"Yes. He gave it back to me. Didn't feel comfortable for me, though. Like the new one better." Draco nodded, scooping up everything but the Horntail and put the lid on the box, sending it shooting back to the cupboard.

"I'm going to see Father for a bit. Get settled. I really was winding you up about dressing for dinner. We don't dine that formally by ourselves."

Hermione washed and carefully unpacked, giving herself space for her belongings and her thoughts. It didn't feel very long before Draco was back to escort her to dinner.

The dining room was enormous; Hermione wondered when the last time each chair had been filled at the table. At the far corner, places for four had been set. Apparently Munro had won, for she saw the silver glittering in the low candlelight.

"Is Munro joining us?"

"I'd expect not. He goes down to the pub in the village down the road or eats alone in the kitchen. I believe she still has the head set for Father."

They stood, side by side at the table until Narcissa swept in the room, and Jenks seated her. Hermione examined her place setting. Munro had indeed won his battle, but Narcissa had thrown down the gauntlet, using every piece of tableware Hermione could believe she had. Hermione could feel Narcissa's eyes on her. She peeled the napkin from the table and placed it in her lap. Seven forks. Four spoons. A silver salt cellar and tiny spoon.

Hermione smiled, slowly, feeling a rush that reminded her of a lecture in Arithmancy in which she had studied just the right material beforehand. Hermione thought of her parents. Growing up with two dentists, she learned from their example to deal with people of all sorts who were in pain, people who were difficult and demanding. Smoothing over prickles and pouring out empathy were lessons they taught expertly, as well as showing her how to set boundaries for patients whose neediness demanded they keep a firm, professional distance. Having dentist parents who were experts in their field, who were invited to lecture and held innovative and profitable patents meant Hermione was well-traveled, and rather well off, compared to many Muggle-born she knew. She'd taken tea at the Ritz, and dined at restaurants in Paris touting their multiple Michelin stars. She'd been a quiet mouse at many elaborate dinner parties and had curled up with a book in hotel cocktail parties in Frankfort and Milan. Hermione knew when she was being tested, but she'd studied. She scanned the forks.

"Oh! We are having escargot! Lovely. But pâté and salad and fruit? My, Draco, I do hope you are hungry!" Draco cocked an eyebrow, and Hermione winked at him and squeezed his knee, apologizing for what she was going to say next. Narcissa looked her over, appraisingly. Hermione pressed her advantage.

"I've never seen all the course forks out at once. How interesting! But I suppose this is how one does it in the country."

Draco had taken a sip of water, and choked on it.

Narcissa frowned.

Hermione beamed. She loved tests.


	32. Lumos

Narcissa raised an eyebrow at her son and took a careful sip of her water. She fixed a smile on Hermione that didn't reach to her eyes. "Miss Granger, thank you for the gardening gloves. Did Draco help you pick them out for me?"

"No, Mrs. Malfoy, I had the great pleasure of picking them out myself. I hope they suit. I also hope you can call me Hermione."

Narcissa blinked at her. "They do...Hermione." She stretched out her name into individual, cautious syllables, as if any one of them might be the one to trigger an explosion. Hermione smiled back with genuine warmth, pulled from her reserves to give away without hope of return. Draco blinked at both of them and attacked his snails with the tiny, two-pronged fork.

Narcissa, wholly unsettled by the exchange, retreated to safe territory and turned on her son, "That...cap...you wore when you arrived... Darling, was it part of a disguise?"

Draco smiled with relief. Hermione could tell he appreciated the normalcy of this question. He swallowed his escargot and leaned in, his forearms resting on the edge of the white tablecloth. "No, mother. Just a hat. Professor McGonagall gave it to me for Christmas. I like it. I will be sure to tell her you admired it as well," he said, his eyes twinkling.

Narcissa gave him a dark look, which he ignored with a renewed interest in his starter. Draco chewed another mouthful and continued, "Professor Sprout gave me a box of charmed fishing lures. I'm thinking we might try some winter fishing, if Munro had time to pre-bait the lake. Mother, you could walk with us if you like. It would be good to get you out in the air a bit." Narcissa sniffed.

The rest of their dinner continued in the same awkward but uneventful manner. Hermione, ever watchful, made no judgements about the experience, but tucked each, distinct observation away for later perusal. Draco radiated ebullience and devoured his meal. He and Hermione followed Narcissa's lead to rise from the table, and Draco dared to suggest the three walk the Manor grounds before bed, when Narcissa spoke in a distant whisper, "I really must retire for the evening. Your father has an early meeting with Fudge at the Ministry. I can't leave it all to Dobby. He's so easily distracted."

Hermione felt a sick swoop of grief at Dobby's name. She imagined Draco's was worse. Her gaze drifted over to him. He looked wooden. He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the back of his chair until his knuckles whitened. Hermione took a deep breath. _This is why I came here, _she steeled herself. "Mrs. Malfoy, that is understandable. Let Draco walk you to your room now," she said, calmly, with no hint of condescension, as though Dobby and Lucius would walk through the door at any moment, and Hermione would pour them both tea.

Narcissa's brow wrinkled and she nodded. "Thank you...dear." Hermione struggled to keep the look of surprise from her face at this affection, reminding herself that Narcissa appeared, just now, to have no idea who she was. Narcissa continued, "I am so glad that you came to visit. Draco always talks about you, Miss Granger. I knew it was because he was fond..." At this, Hermione could not keep her brow from furrowing. She thrust her eyes downward and examined the Malfoy crest on the tableware. _Draco had danced around this before, hadn't he? _Did she want that to be true, or did it make her years of teasing at his direction at Hogwarts more raw? Suddenly, Hermione thought, it was all too much, a Möbius strip of memory mingled with imagination. This glimpse of a slippery reality shot a tingling bolt of terror through her. Narcissa had drifted off from speaking her wanderings aloud; so lost was Narcissa that her path to the end of a sentence was too treacherous to continue. In a motherly moment of tenderness, she leaned into Draco and put an arm around his waist, and her head on his shoulder, letting him guide her to her room.

Hermione sat back down at the vast table and poured herself a small amount of the decanted but untouched wine, letting her thoughts settle. _New boyfriend, a Death Eater no less, and you jump right into the deep end, don't you?_ She took a few sips while sifting through mental snapshots of this unusual meal. The wine did not offer any fuzzy warmth tonight, and Hermione sighed and lifted and rang the silver bell at Narcissa's abandoned place. Jenks appeared with a crack.

"Good evening, Jenks. I'm afraid I need you to do a quick inventory of the tableware before I go to my room. We both don't need to have Mrs. Malfoy wondering tomorrow what I may have put in my pockets."

The house elf looked very uncomfortable, but he surveyed the table, muttering numbers under his breath. He looked up, unable to make eye contact and nodded. Hermione pursed her lips and got up from the table and went back to her room, locking the door behind her. A long soak in the bath later, she dressed in flannel pajamas and sat, stiff-backed, in the chair by the fire, wondering what to do about it all. The victorious rush of the verbal chess match with Narcissa in the garden had worn away, leaving her empty and slightly ashamed. Everything seemed very simple at Hogwarts this year, wretched nightmares aside, and perhaps she didn't have enough energy or bravery for anything else. Suddenly, six days at the Manor with Draco, who she'd known for years and just met all at once, seemed oppressive and scary. So much more of what she had just escaped in London, maybe worse. Maybe she shouldn't always be trying to save the men in her life. _They have saved you. That is what people who love each other do._ Hermione blinked at this, surprising herself. She was thinking of Ron, and Harry, and George, but this was all about Draco, now. _Where did that word, "love," come from? What was she doing here?_

Grabbing her comfort book, a battered copy of _Pride and Prejudice_, Hermione tried to settle herself in bed, but nothing was settling her now. She thought of Ron, and the Horcrux around his neck, and had a flash of understanding. From behind the head of her bed, she could hear Draco enter his room and walk toward their shared door. She heard a soft knock, and then a louder one. She looked down and saw that the doors were not sealed tightly enough to hide the light from her room. Squeezing her eyes shut, she ignored the soft call of her name, and minutes later, the loud slam of Draco's hallway door. She laid like a corpse, staring at the blank plaster ceiling for what seemed like hours, until a fitful sleep took her.

* * *

Hermione rolled over inside the quilt on the camp bed in Ginny's room. The ghoul was thrashing around in the attic again; she would have to go to the library at Hogwarts and read up on them - _There was no way anyone could sleep through this moaning, was there?_ Hermione was lifted roughly and against her will from her sleep, and she blinked in confusion as she looked at the bedding, a brushed blue silk where there should have been a cheery patchwork blanket tied with yarn knots.

The moaning followed her here. Hermione pushed herself up and ran her hands over her face. _Malfoy Manor. What is that sound? It's coming from...oh, Draco! _She left the fears from the night before in her bed, and flew to the door, flicking the lock with her wand. "_Lumos_!" she shouted, and from the steady light of her wand, she could see Draco, still asleep but fighting in his nightmares, his sweat-soaked face contorted in pain.

"Gods! No! No, no! Please! Not her, please! No more, Bella! Please! I'm sorry! Take me! No! Don't kill her!"

Hermione was frozen in shock for a moment. She shook herself loose and called for him, "Draco. Draco!"

Hermione realized her mistake as the words came out, pushing him deeper into his torment, "Hermione! Oh, gods! Oh! No!"

She dropped her wand and scrambled up on the bed, climbing on top of him, grabbing his shoulders, and shouted, "Draco! Wake up! You are having a nightmare, Draco! Please!"

He opened his eyes, but saw right through her, so deep was he in his night terror. Before Hermione could move, he grabbed her around the waist and deftly flipped her onto her back, pinning her beneath him. Her eyes opened wide; she meant to scream, but couldn't make any sound come out.

"BELLA, NO! NO! I will kill you!" he shouted, grimly savage.

The horror made Hermione gasp, the air giving her throat a voice. "DRACO!" she bellowed. The dream shattered like a prophecy, and she could see his open eyes focus on her in horrified clarity. He gasped, "Oh, my gods. Oh, Hermione. Oh, no. Oh, no." He was beyond thought, but he dissolved, still kneeling above her. Hermione's pinned body was frozen as Draco gasped big gulps of air and lifted her up, cradling the back of her head as though Bella had reached through death and dreams and broken Hermione beyond repair. Her blood was throbbing in her ears, making her dizzy, but her body sensed that the danger had passed, and this gave movement to her limbs, letting her wrap her arms around Draco's neck and lower him down to settle on his side next to her. He was still blinking wide-eyed, his chest pumping in air to fill his lungs and his pounding heart. They laid like this together for minutes, until Draco's breathing calmed and his face crumpled into sadness. Hermione peeled herself away from his sweaty torso, and went to his bathroom, where she warmed a facecloth with water as hot as she could stand. She returned to his bed, not stopping to take in his blank stare at the wall, and wiped his forehead, his cheeks, his neck and shoulders. She dried his damp bedding with her wand, and pulled the covers over him before he could shiver. He lifted his eyes up and looked at her, and before the question on his face took words, she snuggled next to him, one hand on his warm chest and pounding heart, the other curled protectively around his waist.

"I won't leave you here, Draco," she whispered, as she kissed his eyelids. She waited for his breathing to soften before she closed her own to sleep.


	33. Reparo

Hermione woke the next morning feeling a dull ache of shame for having panicked the night before. She kept her eyes closed, not ready to face Draco, but as the wave of regret played over her sleep-befuddled mind, she remembered the night's ending. She hadn't gone back to her room. Her eyes flicked open and met yellow glass ones. She blinked and pulled her head back to better take in her bed mate, the scruffy Hungarian Horntail, who had been tucked in beside her. She smiled and scooped it into her chest, burying her nose in its patchy velveteen scales. She wondered about small Draco and the comfort this pouf of fabric and stuffing had brought him. She closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of it, letting its cool satin spikes rub her cheek.

A door gently creaked open, She clutched the stuffed dragon to her chest and sat up. Draco was freshly showered and dressed in chinos and a slim gray wool jumper. His hair was tousled from a towel drying and his cheeks were pink from the roll of steam escaping from the bathroom. Barely away from sleep, Hermione hadn't the time to steel herself for how much seeing him would affect her; she was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her attraction to him in check. Hermione saw that he was startled by her staring. Her involuntary smile and darkening eyes told Draco exactly what had sauntered through her mind to her face, without edit or review.

He cocked an eyebrow and grinned, "Careful, Cinder. I'm not sure I like you cuddling my girlfriend in bed before I get to."

Hermione looked momentarily bemused and then pulled the toy away from her chest and held it out for further examination. "Cinder, is it? Well, Cinder, I am sorry I gave you mixed signals," she addressed the dragon in mock seriousness. "My boyfriend is just there," she nodded at Draco, "and I like him too much to let a dragon, even a gorgeous one such as yourself, come between us." She gave the dragon a kiss on its nose and set it down. Hermione looked up at Draco, her face open and contrite. "You don't need mixed signals either. I was wrong to ignore you last night after dinner. All at once I felt lonely and overwhelmed, and I should have either left your home when you offered or answered your knock on my door. But I made the right choice, in the end, and I won't hide from you again. I'm sorry, Draco."

Draco had seated himself on the edge of the bed, and he listened calmly to her, and then sat quietly for a moment. With anyone else, Hermione would have expected, hoped even, to be interrupted, to be told _no big deal, don't worry about it_, but Draco had apologized enough in the last six months to know how one should be received. She trusted him.

He nodded at her, and climbed onto the bed and over her, his knees straddling her legs. He'd been positioned this way last night, asleep and terrified, but the thrill spiking up Hermione's back now was nothing like fear. He kissed her.

"Thank you for coming to me last night. That nightmare - I guess my mother was right when she told me to never go to bed angry at anyone I..." He stopped, and smoothed a stray curl off her cheek. "I mean it when I say you may go at any time, for any reason, if you don't want to stay. I forgive you for being scared. Merlin knows I've done worse out of fear. Just don't shut me out, Hermione. I don't want to play Occlumency and Legilimency with you." He kissed her softly as tears pricked at her eyes. "Oh, Hermione, sweetheart, hey," Draco's brow furrowed as a fat tear leaked from the corner of her eye to wet the pillow. She smiled gratefully.

"When I heard you," she swallowed, "your screams scared me more than anything I had been..." She gathered her scattered thoughts and composed them. "I was...shaken by my need to be with you when you were scared. I'm not leaving here." She held his cheek with her hand and kissed him back.

Something in his lips had that fierce urgency she had felt last night, and it gave her a flood of pleasure that transformed instantly to a physical need. She kissed him harder, and he met her hungrily. Hermione stopped thinking entirely and focused her body on his, pulling him close, peeling off his jumper, shivering as he ran his hands under her pajama top, across her stomach, over her back. He began to unbutton her shirt and halted, stilling her hand on his trouser zip. He growled in frustration and pushed himself away, gasping, his eyes dark and dangerous in a way that made Hermione wonder things she hadn't yet.

"No," he gasped. "No. Stopping. This isn't how I want our..." He was struggling to breathe and think. "My mum is losing her mind, but she was right to guess that I've fancied you for _years_. But I don't want to rush it. I, uh," he ran his hand through his hair in what looked like shock and embarrassment, "want to...earn you. Spent years thinking about how, if the world were upside down, I could." He looked at her with regret, "It would be easier if you weren't so bloody sexy, Granger. I'm going to kick my own arse later for stopping this."

Hermione had just caught her breath. She didn't want to stop either, and felt no shame about it. But maybe it would feel good to be wooed, slowly. Only Viktor had tried, and she'd never truly fancied him. Maybe it wouldn't be satisfying to mingle grief and fear and sex.

"Your chivalry is having the unintended effect of making you sexier, Malfoy. But I suppose it would be flattering to you to tell you that you've awoken a raging libido. _Draco Dormines Nunquam Titillandus_," she said, grabbing the Horntail and making him angrily stomp over Draco's back. "I reckon I'll have to ask Parvati what a girl does to take care of that herself."

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. "Merlin, Granger, that was unsportsmanlike." He pulled her up off the bed and guided her by her shoulders into her room. "Go shower, whatever. I'm going to go downstairs and drink tea and try desperately not to think about it."

"Should I dress for fishing today?"

"Yes," Draco seemed relieved to change the subject, but she could see in his rapidly blinking eyes that his mind was still spinning. "Saw Munro this morning. Says it's warm enough for a day of fishing. Dress warmly. I'll have one of the elves send up a tray." He smiled vaguely and shut the door.

Her body still tingling from the after effects of Draco Malfoy's attentions, Hermione realized why people took cold showers. She needed one, and she would have taken it if it were not for needing to be warm for a day outside in late December. But instead, she let the steam roll over her, then slathered her clean skin with lotion and wrapped herself in layers of wool tweed. Months in the wilderness taught her to take great pains to prepare for a day outside in the cold.

She was greeted after her shower by a tray with thick slabs of toast, a small pot of jam and a large one of tea, and Hermione nibbled while she set her curls in a thick knot at the nape of her neck. She grabbed her cloak and headed to the hall.

Draco burst in through the door and smiled at her. "You look pretty. You are going to want to swap out those boots. I found a pair of old wellies that will fit you. She took them and slid them on. "Those are from when I was ten, tiny you," he grinned.

He took her hand and handed her a wicker basket. In his free hand, he held a green tackle box and two poles. They apparated to a bleak field of grasses bent double by the weight of the frost. "The lake is behind there." He pointed to a thick copse of trees. "I never apparate closer to water after the time I sent Blaise and me into the lake," he chuckled. "He knows how to swim now."

Hermione enjoyed fishing beyond the opportunity to wear her new Harris tweed sportswear. Draco appreciated her patience and quiet, and the two fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying the efforts of Munro who had baited the warmest cove of the lake. At noon, they took a break for sandwiches and hot tea and wrapped themselves in a thick wool blanket. After another round with the rods, the couple made their way back to the Manor with a thick string of fish to offer Jenks and Nomi for dinner, stopping for a moment to help Munro fix an ancient stone field wall with their wands and to thank him for a day of good fishing.

Dinner was quiet; Mrs. Malfoy had chosen to sit with her husband's body. It gave Draco some time to talk about things he hadn't wanted to spoil their day with. "After yesterday," Draco said, absently swirling his glass of red wine, "I needed to owl our solicitors. Mother can't manage the estate and our businesses any longer. I was reluctant to take over, for many reasons. But it's time. Mother agrees, as much as I think she understands, anyway. I need to take her to meet with them tomorrow," he sighed. I'm sorry. Would you like to come? Or go into London for the day? Or..."

"I don't want to involve myself in your business affairs. It might look...bad. I..." Hermione thought for a moment, staring at the center of the nearest candle's flame. She listened to herself and her will flickered to light within her, clear and bright. "I am staying here."

Draco blinked at her. "Here?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, here." Confidence bathed her in warmth and calm. "I'll see if Munro wants to have lunch with me. And...I will sit with your father, so your mother doesn't worry. I brought my knitting. You have a library of books. Yes. I will stay here."

Draco shook his head, "No, Hermione. You've no idea what you are in for. My mother's madness was upsetting enough for you. I don't think..."

Hermione nodded firmly. "No. I want to do this. I will stay."

Draco tilted his head and looked at her softly, his face unreadable. "I'm just never sure of what you will say next, love."

Hermione smiled. "You can be sure of me, Draco."


	34. Depulso

The day outside yesterday had left Hermione and Draco both chilled and tired, and they both had gone to their beds early. Hermione had taken to sleeping late, but she set her wand to glow brightly at six so she would be sure to see Draco off. She showered and dressed and wandered down to the dining room, hoping the kitchen would be close by. She heard Munro whistling softly from behind a door hidden in the wooden paneling, and she opened it and entered the servants' passage to the kitchen. The kitchen was smaller and darker than Hogwarts' but still impressive. Hermione wondered when Malfoy entertaining last required a space this vast. Perhaps someday, she thought, Draco would be happy enough to gather people for a party. The thought made her smile.

Munro looked up from his tea. "Guid mornin, Miss."

"Good morning, Munro." Hermione smiled at the fatherly groundskeeper and sat down with him with her tea.

"Mr. Malfoy tells me urr on ye own here th'day. Ah wull bade close to th' hoose, if yi'll need me." Hermione wasn't nervous about today, but she was comforted by Munro's concern. She sipped her tea and murmured her thanks, wondering how such a kind man ended up working for the Malfoys. What compelled him to leave the Highlands, besides a home and money? Or had that been enough? He took a last bite of his porridge and swallowed.

"Do ye have a Patronus?"

"Yes, I do."

"A'richt then. If yi'll need me, ye send it." He smiled at her, wrinkling the corners of his weathered face. He nodded and cleared his dishes, waving a goodbye to the house elves on his way out.

"Oh, Munro?"

"Aye, lassy?"

"Would you have lunch with me, if you aren't too busy?"

Munro beamed at her. "Ah kin see how come he likes ye. Ah wid lik' that, Miss Granger." He put on his hat, and tipped it to her on the way out.

His obvious pleasure at having been asked to join her for lunch warmed Hermione on this raw, gray morning. She went back to her room and her trunk and gathered the things she wanted for the day. A canvas tote held her knitting; she added a folded quilt to it. She found the velvety cashmere wrap Draco had bought her for Christmas and snuggled into it. Rummaging in the bottom of her luggage, she found a handheld wizarding wireless Ron had given her for her birthday, a present she'd groused at the time was a dismal certification of his lack of romantic interest. Now though, she was remembering him with fondness as she appreciated its usefulness. Her hand fell on a quill box, and she added that to her tote with a sheaf of parchment. Perhaps she could send some owls.

She lugged the bag back downstairs, and met Draco in the hall. Anxiety shadowed his face, but he chased it off with a brave smile. His eyes locked on the bag.

"Good morning. You...you've packed to go?"

"Yes, to go sit with your father. I've my knitting, some parchment. Is there an owl in your father's room?"

Draco's face flickered between relief and worry; Hermione could see he was wondering what he wanted from her, for her, on this day.

"I'll put an owl in there for you." His face flooded with concern, his brow knitted. He gave her a searching look. "Are you quite sure..."

"Yes. I think you should walk me there. You need to go soon, yes?"

He nodded, accepting her word. Draco took her bag and her hand, lacing her fingers with his. Even as he was leaving, even as she was bracing herself for this day, the feeling of his fingers in between hers gave her a rush of pleasure. She felt a flutter in her stomach as she enjoyed this feeling and the heat of the blush that was creeping onto her cheeks as she remembered their last night together.

Draco had noticed. "Are you okay?"

Hermione nodded and sighed happily. 'I just like holding your hand, Draco." She felt a pull in her chest when he fleetingly registered surprise before he smiled at her, softly.

"I'm glad you let me."

They reached the top of the stairs but turned in the opposite direction from their rooms, to the west wing of the house. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had separate bedrooms joined by a shared sitting room. Draco walked Hermione into his father's room and instinctively put his arm around her. Lucius Malfoy was laying on his side, curled like a fetus, facing them. His mouth was slightly open, but his breathing was quiet. His eyes were wide and unseeing; they focused clearly on Draco and Hermione, but no emotion or recognition were behind them. Dressed in clean pajamas and freshly shaved, his hair had been cropped short. She assumed his hair had been cut in Azkaban, but she found herself imagining Draco, sleeves rolled up and a towel on his shoulder, sitting with his father's head in his lap, shaving his face by hand. It made her sad for reasons she couldn't put into words.

Hermione walked forward and sat in the chair near the bed. Draco sat carefully on the edge of the massive four-poster and put a hand on his father's bare foot. She imagined he'd never touched his father's foot when he'd been truly alive.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure it doesn't get easier." Hermione said softly.

"No. It's hard every time I step into this room. I'm not sure what I expect will be different." He blinked and focused on his father's foot. "Don't feel sorry for me. Or him. It just is," he said, his voice hard.

Hermione didn't challenge him. "Do they know who let the Dementors into his cell?"

Draco's voice lost its bitter edge to sadness. "I'm sure _they_ do. I'm not sure I want to. There is no justice for what my father did, and there is no justice for what was done to him."

Hermione nodded and looked at Draco and then down at Lucius. She supposed Draco really did need to leave soon. He wouldn't give her orders or instructions - she would have to be the one to ask.

"How do I care for him?'

Draco sighed. "I will have Jenks..."

"I will ask Jenks if I need help. Tell me."

Draco respected her request and led her through the spell work he used in levitating and turning his father. His father could feel pain, and Draco told her that he could moan, and say "no" and "ow;" that he was still of sound body, but his muscles were rapidly atrophying with his will to move gone. He'd choked on food, but Narcissa had discovered he could be fed porridge and a bottle, like an infant. Nomi would bring them to him. Draco looked wretched with embarrassment when he shared the spells to clean and dry the nappy under his father's nightclothes. Hermione smoothed her expression to neutral. Her parents had shared some detailed and grotesque dental cases at the dinner table on more than one occasion, and Hermione wasn't as squeamish as she feared she might be.

Draco kept searching for signs she was having second thoughts, and Hermione tried to be casual as she waved him off with a friendly goodbye kiss.

He held her arms in his hands. "Send me your Patronus if you need me. For anything."

"I will. It's an otter," she offered, realizing she had seen his falcon outside of the flower shop in Hogsmeade, but he'd missed the D.A. meetings where her otter had taken form, gliding smoothly over the heads of her friends.

"I...yes. That seems right."

Hermione smiled in a bemused way, but Draco shooed away her confusion with a tender kiss, and turned, leaden, to go. With one conflicted look back at her, Draco left the room.

Hermione watched the empty doorway for a moment, and then turned to Draco's father. She walked back to the chair and pulled it close to him. She inspected him, allowed herself to gape, to stare, to be rudely revulsed for several minutes. Then she closed her eyes and put her mind back in Carna's office at Hogwarts. She was on a woven rug, her back straight, her brain still. She breathed for several minutes and focused on her breath, her lungs, her heart. She wiped her mind clean, her conscience flickering forth just briefly enough to find the irony in her attempt to clear her mind in front of this man, whose mind had been easily wiped by monsters. Centering herself again, she thought about Draco, and a rush of affection swept over her, so powerful she gasped aloud. She breathed, calming herself again. Taking that feeling, the feeling she had for him - she didn't give it a name - she thought about Draco, and who made him. Carna, who had worked so hard to bring him to her, whether she knew it or not. Neville, who had forgiven him, so bravely, so kindly. Harry, who shook his hand. Sprout. McGonagall. Parvati. Seamus. Dean. And then she walked toward _them_, his parents, in her mind, slowly. Narcissa, who did love him, it was plain on her addled face. And Lucius, this shell of a man, who pampered, and indulged, and bullied him, did love him, once, with a flawed ferocity. There was testimony of it at the trials in front of the Wizengamot, and there was testimony in Draco's hand, absently holding his father's bare, limp foot.

She opened her eyes.

She thought she might feel pity; Mr. Malfoy was pitiful. But she felt none. She regarded him clinically. His breathing was calm. He was quiet and dry. He'd been fed. Hermione pulled herself closer, and spoke to him, quietly, but with no affection.

"You hated me, didn't you? You hated a child, in a bookshop. At a quidditch game. Just a child, being there, was repulsive to you, wasn't it? You bullied your son into hating me, and it very nearly got him killed."

At once, a small, wet noise came from the body of Lucius Malfoy, and Hermione wrinkled her nose. She pulled her wand and waved it over him, cleaning his pants. She leaned back into her chair again.

"You almost killed another child, Ginny Weasley. A child, younger than your own boy. And for whom? An orphan of a pathetic, mad woman and a nasty man who happened to be a Muggle? It hardly worked out for you, did it, Mr. Malfoy? But it almost did...it really very nearly could have..."

Hermione watched him breathe. They were strong, even breaths. His soul would have despaired at how strong his heart was now. She sighed. "But no one deserves this, Lucius. No one deserves to have his soul taken from him, especially if he hasn't had a chance to fix it first."

She watched him shiver slightly. The coincidence unnerved her, but her wit looked for a cause, and she saw a sheer curtain flutter from a draft in the ancient, mullioned windows. She leaned forward and pulled the blanket out of her bag.

"Merry Christmas, Draco's father. I didn't wrap it. But I brought it for you. My grandmother made it for my mother when Mum was pregnant with me; most women get so hot and swollen, but my mother was tiny and always cold. She loved this quilt. She called it "ours," even before I _was_, Lucius. Her first love of me was wrapped in this quilt. And it is the first thing that lost meaning for her. When I found her; when I brought her home to me in England, she put it in the bin for Oxfam - "So ratty," she said. "Why had I kept something so ratty?" Hermione stood up and unfolded it carefully and tucked Lucius into his Christmas gift. Instinctively - Hermione noted with a shudder of jumbled feelings - Lucius snuggled into it. Hermione breathed a ragged sigh and closed her eyes to feel Draco near her again.


	35. Anapneo

Hermione spent much of the morning writing owls to her parents and friends. She'd gotten one back from Harry right away; he'd seen Draco in Diagon Alley with Narcissa, and Harry had worried about where Hermione was.

She took a moment to turn Lucius and tuck him back into the quilt. Nomi came to feed him, and Hermione took her leave for lunch. She entered the kitchen as Munro was washing his hands.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Munro. I get lonelier than I used to, before the War."

"We a' need someone, Miss Granger."

"Please do call me Hermione. Who is your someone?"

"Ah was in love once. She married a wizzard. Now my someones are th' deer 'n' the wood, and th' villagers at th' pub. Thay think I'm dotty. Canna tell where I live - living in a' unplottable hoose," he chuckled. _It had to be terribly lonely to be a Squib_, Hermione thought, _knowing about wizards' secrets but not being one yourself_.

Why did you come here?

"Lucius, he wis a savage, bit ah loved his land 'n' th' laddie. Draco slipped aff a rock covered with slime 'n' fell inta a fast river when he was just six. Ah hauled him in 'n' he followed me lik' a pup. He wis a right brat but ah loved him anyway. Th' War changed him, didn't it?"

"The War changed all of us."

"Ah suppose so...He's grown intae a better man. Even his Patronus ha' changed. He's only jus' learned to conjure one for school?"

"Yes, he needs a Patronus in Hogsmeade. It's changed?"

"Aye. Ah didn't think that could change. Ah was fond o' th' falcon. Th' fresh one is bonny though. Just saw it afore Yule, when he told me ye werr comin'. It's an otter. Some say thay mate fur life. Interesting creatures, otters."

"Yes, interesting." Hermione could barely think for the blood rushing to her head, her heart pounding in her ears.

Munro was used to his solitude, and her silence didn't strike him as unusual. He ate peacefully, and smiled at her when he was done.

"You're all right with sittin' with him upstairs?

'Yes," she said, so quietly that he cocked his head and looked at her with concern. "Yes," she said more firmly, with a smile. "It's sad. But I am very well. Thank you, Munro. You are kind."

"Yer a kind lassie, Hermione Granger." He winked at her and patted her gently on the shoulder on the way back out.

Hermione relieved Nomi and saw that Lucius had fallen asleep. She knitted for a while, and then turned on the wireless softly for company. She'd not listened to the wizarding wireless since she was craving word of her friends while on the move in the woods, and it quickly became apparent that the Wizarding World Network kept its listeners entertained with steady streams of gossip interspersed with tiny snippets of actual news. She was reaching to search for a music channel when her hand froze on the dial.

_"...And in Diagon Alley today, Narcissa Malfoy, wife of ex-convict and Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, was seen entering Gringotts with her son, Draco Malfoy, who escaped Azkaban largely on the testimony of Harry Potter. The former Narcissa Black looked, if possible, more fatigued than she appeared at the trials. When asked of their business, the younger Malfoy declined to comment, but asked our reporter on the scene if he had, and I quote, 'any regrets about his life choices.' Our business insider, Marcus Flint, tells us the Malfoys still control impressive business holdings across the United Kingdom. We have heard reports from sources inside Hogwarts that the young former Death Eater has found a girlfriend in one Hermione Granger. Granger, as listeners will remember, was one of two friends who disappeared with Harry Potter for the better part of last year, in Potter's search to destroy Voldemort. She had previously been linked romantically with Ronald Weasley, the third in that trio. We are sending our lifestyle reporter, Phillipa Darlington, to the Auror office for comment from Weasley and Potter. Miss Granger has not responded to requests for an interview, suggesting she was hoping to keep the relationship a secret or has been Imperiused. Later, we will speak with former Healer Digby Borogroves, who will share his expertise and speak to the mental status of Miss Granger, reminding us what to look for when determining if a loved one has suffered from the Imperius Curse. Next up at the top of the hour, the Daily Quidditch Report, with the Chudley Cannons..."_

Hermione dazedly shut off the radio. _It wasn't ever going to stop, was it? Just like in school with Rita Skeeter, _Hermione mused to herself. She sighed, and dropped the radio back in her bag with unnecessary force. She returned to her knitting, her fingers flying on the needles, her brow knitted too in irritation. She finished the blue scarf, and pulled some green wool to start on another, when an owl tapped at the window. Cracking the window just enough to let the owl in, Hermione unfurled a note from Harry.

_Oh, Hermione - _

_And here it goes. I was prepared to ask Ms. Darlington if she would like for us to include her in our daily Auror spellwork training as a test dummy, but she tossed her notebook in the rubbish bin and sat on Ron's desk. They are going to lunch now, Merlin help me. I hope that you are okay - more than okay. I think drinks are in order, soon. _

_ Much love, _

_ Harry x_

Hermione rubbed the owl's feathers gently and pulled a piece of parchment from her bag.

_Ha, Harry - _

_I promise I am quite well. I chose, as I said, against Draco's protests, to stay at the Manor today whilst he is in London. It is good. I am well. You may wish to tune in for Digby Borogroves' report on the Wireless about Imperius Curses so that you may check Ron over when he returns from lunch. Ugh. Drinks soon. Miss you._

_ Lots of love,_

_ Hermione x_

Hermione was finishing the green scarf when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Draco rushed in, still in his business robes, to see her as though he'd been gone for days and began to fuss over her; Hermione had a flash of Mrs. Weasley, but wisely chose to keep the thought to herself.

"Yes, Draco, everything was fine. I ate lunch with Munro. He's lovely. And your father, is...the same." Draco looked down at him for the first time since he entered the room and saw him wrapped up in the quilt, its worn, homely patchwork an affront to the formal elegance of the room.

"What is this?" Draco touched it to point, but his hand lingered on the soft cotton. His face was unreadable.

"My grandmother made this quilt for my mother when she was pregnant with me. It was our quilt. My mother tried to give it to charity. It's your father's Christmas present." Hermione bit her lip and looked at Draco, wondering what he would think about the shabby quilt with its loud riot of mismatched colours regifted to his father, who was looking himself the worse for wear. She hoped he wouldn't find insult where none was meant.

He grabbed her and pulled her into a fierce hug, his face buried in her curls. She breathed him in and felt as lightheaded as she did from her first deep pull of him in her Amortentia. Maybe even more.

He finally pulled back and searched her face. He looked amazed. "I...I...Hermione. Thank you." He looked around and seemed to realize where they were, and gathered himself. "My mother wants to see Father. Let's get you out of the house. Do you want to go back to London for curry? Let me go get changed," he blurted, as he grabbed her things and slung her bag over his shoulder. The two otters left the old man to his quilt and nothingness.


	36. Expecto Patronum

Hermione met Draco outside his room. He'd changed into grey trousers and a blue Oxford shirt, a Muggle coat folded over his arm. She'd folded up her wrap and changed into a pair of navy wool shorts, boots, and an orange wool sweater under her navy cape coat.

Draco smiled and raised an eyebrow at the sweater. "Please don't tell me you're a Cannons fan."

Hermione grinned. "No. But they were talking about the Cannons on the wireless today. Among other things."

"Like what?"

"I'm not hungry yet. I like the idea of London though. Walk with me?" Hermione held out her hand to Draco and apparated him to a secluded corner of St. James' Park. She kept his hand as they walked.

She continued, "Like us dating," Hermione whispered, conspiratorially. "I may be Imperiused. So you know," Draco's mouth made a thin line, but Hermione laughed. "Oh, Draco, I've had worse said about me." She spun to face him and put her arms around his neck. "But we are a good story." She kissed him. "Besides, Harry owled to say Ron got a date out of it; he asked out the reporter assigned to us. He'll have her drop it; I'm sure of it."

"Romantic," Draco snorted.

"Hardly," Hermione agreed. "But you know what is? This." She kissed him, pouring all of her heart into him, praying he could feel what she felt in the kiss. She pulled back and smiled at him. He drew a deep breath and held her arms.

"Hermione Granger, I love you."

She stilled and looked up at him, hopefully.

He gave a shaky laugh, "Oh, I hope that didn't scare any part of you. But I've needed to say that for a while now." He let out a breath. "I spent most of a day taking over vaults of Galleons and sheaves of maps, and all I want is to be worthy of you."

Hermione beamed at him. "I didn't get bored today. I learned two things. One," she said, softly kissing his mouth, "was when I was upset for a moment, lost in sad memories, I thought of you, and you made me better. You're making me better, Draco." He stared at her, willing himself not to blink. "And two," she said, kissing him again, "Munro told me your Patronus had changed. And it made me happy."

They were alone, but Hermione looked around to be sure before she let her Patronus burst from her wand, the otter swimming circles around them.

Draco called firmly, "_Expecto Patronum_," and his otter chased hers playfully. They watched in silence for a moment, then both raised their wands to send the pair away.

Draco looked at the spot where they had faded and then turned his face to Hermione. "It changed after the bonfire."

"What memory do you use?" Hermione whispered.

"When you forgave me." He smiled at the thought of it. Shyly, he asked, "What memory did you use?"

"Just now. You telling me you loved me."

Draco pulled her to him roughly and grabbed her, kissing her hard, his mouth taking her lower lip and teasing hers open, his tongue tasting her hungrily. He worked his way down her neck.

"How hungry are you?" Hermione breathed, teasingly.

"Was I hungry? Forgot." He gently nipped at her earlobe. "Nope, found something," he murmured, huskily. He breathed out a huff of a laugh and leaned back to smile at her. "I'm sorry," he smirked. "I did promise you dinner, didn't I? Does curry sound good? Where should we go?"

Hermione steadied herself and walked him towards the street and a cab queue. She took him to a tiny, packed restaurant where they both realized how ravenous they were, as the tensions of the day evaporated in the company of each other. Draco leaned into the table, absorbed in her, even as he told her about his day and his business dealings.

On the way back to the Manor, he led her into a florist's, where she helped pick a bouquet for her room. They left with a bunch of white roses, and they found a quiet alley to apparate back to his home.

Nomi summoned a vase for her, and Draco walked Hermione back to her room. He stopped at the door, as if he were walking her home, and not to the bedroom adjoining his.

"You are amazing," he said, with a small smile. "Thank you again for today. You didn't need to do any of it, but I am so grateful. I love you."

Hermione wanted to try out the words dancing in her.

"I love you, too."

His eyes were bright, and he closed them and kissed her, softly. He handed her the flowers with a small bow and stepped back towards the door, his hands jammed in his pockets.

"Sleep well."

* * *

The next day, Draco asked Hermione what she wanted to do, and she knew he wasn't at all surprised to be led to the Malfoy library. They holed up in the room for the day, Hermione wrapped in blue cashmere and Draco wrapped in her, his head in her lap and her book-free hand on his chest. Nomi and Jenks brought them meals and tea, and Hermione was in bliss.

Draco had left twice to check on his parents. Hermione had noted with some interest that he found the quilt still tucked around his father. They ate dinner with Narcissa that evening. Narcissa broke the silence.

"Hermione," she said, again careful with the name, "that quilt is very...soft." Hermione could see Narcissa eyeing her son as she searched for a polite word. "Is it a...family...heirloom?"

Hermione sniffed a breath of a laugh. "Hardly an heirloom. I know it doesn't look like much, but I gave it to your husband because it is so soft. My grandmother made it to comfort my mother when she was pregnant with me."

"I would think you would want to keep it."

"I don't. It used to be very dear to my mother and me. Then the...War...happened," Hermione swallowed, regarding Narcissa carefully. "And I was afraid my parents would be," she swallowed again, "tortured to tell where I was, so Voldemort could find Harry." Narcissa blanched and looked at her plate. Hermione continued, "And so I wiped their memories clean of me." Narcissa's eyes shot up and she stared at Hermione, a look of horror on her face. "I got them back, Mrs. Malfoy, but their feelings didn't survive intact. It's just a very soft quilt now. Your husband's very soft quilt." Narcissa swallowed and gathered herself, looking at Hermione with something far from affection but closer to admiration, as though she'd found a will matching her own.

"Wars make strange bedfellows," Narcissa mused as she bit back a gasp of laughter. Her face slid into a blank wonder. "Draco, darling, we are having company tomorrow. My sister will be visiting."

Draco's face fell and he rested his eyes on Hermione before turning to his mother. "Mother." He sighed. "Bellatrix is dead."

"She is, isn't she?" Narcissa said absently, as though commenting on a character in a book barely holding her interest. "No, Draco, I meant Andromeda. And she is bringing her grandson. We have a few days before the next full moon. We should be safe."

Hermione was too lost in shock to argue the genetics of Lycanthropy. Draco took a steadying gulp of wine. "How did this come about, Mother?"

"She was dead to me, Draco, but we are Blacks. We've both lost...our husbands. A Black pays her respects."

Hermione couldn't imagine Bellatrix paying respects to anyone but her Dark Lord. Again, she thought better than to argue the point.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I was with your sister and Teddy..." - at the mention of the nickname, Mrs. Malfoy pulled a face - "at Christmas, and they are excellent company. I look forward to seeing them."

"That's lovely, Pansy. Draco, it's been a long day. I must go up now. You two behave yourselves."

Hermione forced her face to neutral as Draco, mortified to a bright pink, prompted, "It's Hermione, Mother."

"Ah, yes. Of course it is. She is much lovelier than that Parkinson cow. Have Jenks count the spoons, dear."

Hermione switched on a congenial smile. "He won't forget, Mrs. Malfoy. Goodnight." Draco put his head in his hands.

He spoke without looking up. "She was so much herself yesterday. The solicitors tried to talk her out of signing it all away. It must have taken something out of her."

Hermione put her hand on his arm. "Oh, I don't know, Draco. I always thought Pansy was a cow, too," Hermione said, soothingly. Elbows on the table, Draco put his thumbs between his closed eyes. Hermione could see a smirk playing at his mouth.

The next morning, Hermione couldn't find Draco. He wasn't in his room, nor was he at breakfast. Hermione asked Nomi, who was dusting in the library, where he had gone.

"Third floor nursery, Miss. Let me take you."

At the landing, they could hear voices floating down the hall.

"This was brilliant! I wonder if it still flies."

"For Freya's sake, Draco, put it down. You will lose an eye!"

Hermione peeked in. "Good morning."

Draco rushed to her and gave her a quick kiss. Hermione noticed with some interest that this didn't seem to ruffle Mrs. Malfoy.

"Can I help? What are you doing?"

Draco explained. "Teddy," - Hermione noticed Narcissa again pulled a face at the name - "is too little for most of this, but Mother thought if we had a cot ready, he might nap. I wanted to see what was up here."

Hermione looked around. The room was bright, airy, and a cheerful shade of yellow. Hermione thought of Harry's stories of spoiled Dudley, but unlike the Dursleys' spare bedroom of jumbled, broken playthings, this space was immaculate, muslin sheets carefully draped to protect against dust. The toys that had been revealed, even those that appeared older than Draco, had all been played with carefully and seemed in good repair. She took in the large tabletop Quidditch pitch, with players poised for flight. There was a Hogwarts Express, a castle with a Merlin doll, giants, and trolls. Wooden blocks, soft Bludgers and Quaffles, and a tiny toy broom were spaced carefully on the painted shelves.

There was a couch in the center of the room with a play rug in front. The far side held a rocking chair, a cot, a small bed, and a tiny bookshelf. Narcissa pulled a wicker box off a shelf and unwrapped a silver rattle and a hippogriff on wheels. She leaned against Draco's arm and sighed. "You were such a sweet baby."

Draco rolled his eyes good-humoredly and smiled at her, gently.

Hermione's mind went back to her home, and Draco guiding her parents to remember.

"May I see his baby album, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Albums," she smiled. Mrs. Malfoy, still in her maternal reverie, was eager to share her pride with anyone, even Hermione Granger. She beckoned her over to the yellow velvet couch and summoned a large leatherbound album. It was probably the only point of bonding between the two, thought Hermione, photos of baby Draco, with wisps of white hair and soulful silver eyes, blinking solemnly at the camera. As if he were guided by Felix Felicis, Draco backed away to play with the Quidditch pitch. Hermione was jolted by a photo of Lucius, looking young, handsome, and alive, holding a wiggling Draco under his arm like a Quaffle. Mrs. Malfoy's face tightened as she stared at it. "Thank you," she whispered, reluctantly to Hermione, "for caring for Lucius yesterday."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "I did it for your son."

"I know," Mrs. Malfoy answered. "Draco's all I have left," she added.

"I know. That is why I am here."

Narcissa stared at her, as if for the first time. "I never associated with...people of...Muggles," she murmured.

"My parents didn't know wizards and witches existed. And yet they sent me away to Hogwarts when I was eleven. Love makes you take risks, doesn't it, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Narcissa," she murmured, touching the photo of her husband and son.

"Narcissa," Hermione answered her.

With a crack, Jenks appeared in front of the women.

"Ma'am, Mrs. Black-Tonks and Master Theodore Lupin are in the drawing room."

Mrs. Malfoy nodded. "Offer her tea; I will be down in a moment." She turned to Draco and Hermione. "I shall receive her privately. Later, I will send for you. We may entertain them in the nursery; it's unorthodox, but what isn't, anymore? Hermione, I don't expect you or Draco to join us in the drawing room." Narcissa gathered baby toys in the basket and left the room.

Hermione gave her a look of shock and put her hand to her chest, touched and grateful. The gesture confused Draco.

"You know what that was about?" he asked.

"We have had many memories of each other since I was in the Manor last, but your mother hasn't. She's protecting me, and probably you, and maybe herself," Hermione stumbled over the words as they were foreign on her tongue. "She's keeping me from your drawing room and my memories of it."

"Gods." A look of horror dawned on Draco's face. "Oh, Hermione. I didn't think about the room. I just remember you. And Bellatrix. I am sorry."

"Your mother is very complicated," Hermione murmured.

For nearly an hour, Hermione and Draco amused themselves playing with his childhood toys; Hermione fiddled and guessed at the spell work behind them while Draco transformed into a little boy, orchestrating a brutal defeat for tiny Gryffindors at the hands of an expert Slytherin Quidditch team.

"Hermione." A voice that sounded like Narcissa's but a half-step lower and full of fondness called for her from behind them.

"Andromeda!" Hermione grabbed Draco's hand and rushed over to Mrs. Tonks, who looked, upon close comparison, very much like her sister. Hermione welcomed her with a side hug, careful not to startle a watchful Teddy, his hair and eyes a mousy brown, his hand clutching Draco's silver rattle.

"Hiya, Teddy," Hermione cooed.

Hermione looked to Mrs. Malfoy to lead introductions, but she was frozen at the doorway, an odd look on her face. Hermione looked at Draco pointedly and he walked over to take his mother's hand to pull her into the room. Mrs. Malfoy shook off her daze.

"Andromeda, may I present my son, Draco. Draco, this is your Aunt Andromeda Tonks and her grandson Theodore Lupin."

"Teddy," Andromeda offered.

"Quite," Narcissa sniffed.

Andromeda winked at Hermione, and Hermione was reminded with a swoop of grief of the baby's mother, her dead friend. Andromeda smiled warmly at Draco, who regarded her shyly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Draco," she said, as she pulled him into a hug, and Draco blinked, patting her back awkwardly, politely returning the greeting.

"Hi, Teddy. I'm Draco," he said, carefully.

Hermione, having just seen Teddy, was able to gently peel him from Andromeda, and she walked the cautious baby, allowing him to keep his grandmother in sight. Nymphadora and Andromeda sat, talking quietly on the couch, Andromeda taking the baby album onto her lap. Hermione walked the two boys over to the Quidditch pitch and prompted Draco, "Why don't you show him another game?"

Draco who appeared unnerved by the appearance of a baby in his nursery, was flustered into action and began to wave his wand over the pitch, Teddy's eyes widening as the figures took flight in front of him. Minutes later, before Hermione realized the change that had come over both of the Black boys, Draco had settled his back on the floor, sailing a chuckling Teddy over his head, pulling him down to make wet raspberry noises on the sliver of the baby's belly peeking out from his clothes. Hermione gasped at the picture in wonder. At some point she had missed, Teddy became Draco's twin; his eyes and hair lightening to match his cousin's. When Teddy started to rub his eyes, Andromeda decided to make their goodbyes, but she swept her sister into a fierce hug and promised to come back soon.

Hermione contemplated the Malfoys as they parted with Andromeda and Teddy. They looked lighter; Mrs. Malfoy felt present, and Hermione had to turn away to blink back tears she didn't know she owed anyone.


	37. Nox

That evening, Narcissa Malfoy was quiet again, but her eyes lost their dull flatness. She looked lost in thought - but with the fresh memories of today and not the jumble of long ago. She played with her wineglass_,_ a small smile playing at her lips.

With a smile quite like his mother's, Draco stared at Hermione across the candlelit table with an intense look which made Hermione blush and look at her lap. He asked her, "Did you bring something to wear to go out, for say, New Year's Eve?"

Hermione looked up in surprise. "Did you plan something for us?"

Draco smirked and spoke pretending she was new to English, "Of course I did. I told you I was wooing you," He winked.

Hermione grinned. "What happens when I get thoroughly wooed?"

Draco nodded and pulled a grim face. "I plan on being horrible. I'm sure you can imagine."

Hermione was ready to tease, _"Of course I can, Prince of Slytherin,"_ when a small voice in her head redirected her tongue. "I really can't, Draco."

Her soft smile spread into a warm grin when his eyes widened and he blushed. He blinked and then asked in a carefully casual voice, "What do you usually do on New Year's Eve? Besides hunt dark wizards?"

Hermione pulled a face. "Mostly that."

Narcissa spoke, startling them both. "We used to have a ball. Surely you remember Draco? Your father and I..." she trailed off, picking at the damask tablecloth.

Draco gave her a sad smile. "I could host one with you next year, Mother."

With obvious effort, Narcissa smiled at her son. "Perhaps. I'm going to check on your father now. He looked uncomfortable earlier."

Draco stood as his mother excused herself. As he sat back down, he refocused his attention on Hermione. "Well?"

"Well, I left my ball gown at Hogwarts. But Parvati threw a party dress and shoes in my trunk when we were packing. What do you have planned, if you don't mind me asking?"

As if on cue, an owl pecked at the french doors leading to the gardens. Draco gave a wary look at Hermione, who had recognized the owl and called, "It's Harry's!"

"Does he have Extendable Ears in my home, too?" he muttered. He let the owl in, and Hermione was surprised to see it offer its leg not to her but to Draco, who fed it a bit of his cassoulet.

Draco smirked at Hermione's unconstrained curiosity, which only increased as she watched Draco read. Draco relaxed his grip on the parchment and let it be pulled from his fingers, smirking as he watched Hermione read.

_Malfoy,_

_ Imagine, if you will, how disturbing it would be for your beloved, only godson to show up at hour house with untidy black hair, green eyes, and a scar on his forehead? Are you feeling it? Good, you git, because that is exactly how I felt when Teddy showed up for his overnight looking like Draco Junior. Stuff of my nightmares._

_ When Remus asked me to be his godfather, he didn't know how much his son and I would have in common. I want better for Teddy than I had as an orphan. So welcome to Teddy's family. Let him down, and I will gladly hex your balls clean off. Same goes if you mess about Hermione while I am at it. Still have my cloak._

_ Ginny would like for me to tell you seven at The Savoy is perfect and to thank you for arranging it._

_ Send my love to Hermione,_

_ Harry_

As she read, Draco watched her blink back tears, and then click her tongue in a "tut," and then blink some more. She looked down at Draco, who grinned and pulled her to him from his chair. She sat in his lap and smiled. "You look chuffed about Teddy. Don't worry about Harry."

"Oh, no. There's no worry. Worry implies doubt. I don't doubt Potter one bit," he kissed her neck. "I'll just give him no motivation."

"So we are going out with Harry and Ginny?" Hermione was equal parts incredulous and excited.

"Well, my mother was right. New Year's is best with a party. I told you I was wooing you properly. I believe dates with friends are on."

"They aren't your friends." Hermione wondered about Dean or Seamus - if Draco would stay friendly with them after school. She wondered about Blaise and whatever happened to Goyle.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Didn't you read the Gospel According to the Chosen One?" He flicked the parchment on the table. "We are _family_ now." He chuckled. "Bet that hurt to write."

Hermione shrugged. "He's written things that've hurt worse. Ask to see his scar from Umbridge sometime."

Draco snorted and nodded. "Sounds like a good icebreaker. But yes, we are meeting Harry and Ginny for dinner and dancing. Neville and Hannah are having a quiet holiday at his home. You know Parvati's in Delhi and Seamus is in Ireland. Anthony and Justin are joining us, too. Blaise owled me and said he'd run into Dean in a gallery in London. They went to a pub and got properly drunk about the War and are now best mates, apparently. Dean is bringing Susan," - they both raised an eyebrow about this - "and Blaise - our wizarding world is small - is dating fellow Glad Rags model Eirenne Beaulieu, first cousin of Fleur and Gabrielle Delacoeur. On the Veela side. He tells me she's good for his ego - she makes him look ugly. She wanted to visit Fleur and Weasley, so they were in England this week.

Hermione snorted. "You think you are on notice! Blaise better behave himself around the Delacour-Weasleys."

"Blaise has made it plain that Eirenne, like my girlfriend, is a witch who can hold her own just fine. She hexed a whole table of lads in a club in Paris before Blaise could decide how to save face and defend his witch. Fortunately, it was a wizarding club, and the bouncer could set them to rights and remove their thumbs from their..."

"Oh!" Hermione rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a Galleon, inspecting its edge closely.

_Need girl time. Booked us spa._

This faded and a new message appeared.

_Bring your dress._ _3 p.m._

_ They can meet us at Savoy._

Draco was looking at her, puzzled.

_Diagon Alley, La Voisin. GW_

Hermione grinned. "I've got a date before our date. Ginny wants me to meet her at Diagon Alley at 3 to get ready before we go out. Can you meet us at The Savoy?"

"Well, I think you look delicious still rumpled in bed. But sure, if you need four hours to get ready." Draco smirked. "I've got some business at our London office. I'm sure someone will still be there working." Hermione shook her head at this. _Working at his office. Last year we were fighting a war. I'm not even twenty. And tomorrow is the end of another year._

The next day, Draco and Hermione took a long rambling walk around the grounds. They talked of studies and future plans. Draco was still interested in Healing but now had a vast estate and business interests to manage. Hermione was passionate about the rights of elves, law and Muggle relations; looking for her parents in Australia had also shown her a need for better worldwide wizarding cooperation.

They both danced around the subject of _us_, knowing their relationship was just dawning, and it was too early for their minds to meet the future their hearts had begun to plan. They took their lunch with Munro, who appreciated Draco's company as an adult far more when Hermione Granger was part of it. After they'd eaten, Hermione tidied up her guest room and packed, and she found Draco in a room near the library, which appeared to be his father's study, anchored with a massive desk carved with serpents winding up its legs. He was standing behind the desk, arms crossed, staring out the window. She walked to him softly, but he turned abruptly and gathered her in a hug.

She tilted her head to the side and studied him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "My father looks like he's in pain. Mother called a Healer. Trainee, I think. The holidays." He shrugged. "She should have found someone in palliative care, but he insisted she give him a Pepper Up potion. Not sure about that, but he's the Healer, I guess. Not much point in a second opinion, is there?" His voice had a flinty edge to it.

"Are you still sure you want to leave him today?"

He set his mouth in a firm line. "He's already gone. I'd be staying for Mother, and she's so absorbed in him, it's like I'm not there. She insisted I go when I suggested it. Got a bit upset; said some things were still hers to decide. Munro said he wanted to work on a project in the house. He and the elves will stay close."

Hermione nodded. She was only sad for Draco, but that was enough. "I, uh, think I should go say goodbye, even though we are returning tonight..."

Draco's mouth turned up a small fraction, but he smiled with his eyes. "I never expected you to love my mother, or like her, or want to be in the same room with her, but you really are kind, Hermione. I never used to see that as brave, or strong, or wise. But it is, and you are. Thank you."

She hugged him again, her ear to his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. She wondered how strong Lucius' heart was, and how many more years of this Draco would see.

"I love you," she breathed.

"I love you, too," he murmured in her hair. "I'll go with you."

Hermione stepped gently inside Lucius' bedroom after knocking lightly on the door jamb. Narcissa was examining an empty bottle of Pepper Up. "I don't know if this helped," she muttered, but Hermione could see Lucius was sleeping soundly, his face smooth.

"Narcissa," Hermione began, quietly.

Narcissa looked at her, distractedly.

Hermione continued, "We will be back late this evening, or I expect very early tomorrow morning, if you need anything, or if you'd rather, Draco offered to stay..."

Narcissa waved them off. "I am...we are fine here. Please go." She turned to her son, her eyes full of grief.

"Next year. It will be better, won't it?"

Draco couldn't pull his eyes from his father's body.

"Yes. It has to be."

He gave his mother a kiss on her cheek, squeezed her arm, and led Hermione from the room. They gathered their things for the evening and walked slowly to the apparation point, Hermione startling herself with the thought that she would ever linger on a walk away from Malfoy Manor. She felt more changed by time than when she'd manipulated it with a pendant.

Draco adjusted his grip on her hand. "Together then? Diagon Alley."

They landed in front of a pink edifice Hermione had not seen before. She could see Ginny had spotted her in the window of the salon. Draco saw too, and he pulled Hermione into a smoldering kiss, holding up a hand in a wave to a wide-eyed Ginny Weasley.

"Show off!" Hermione gasped when he finally broke the embrace.

"Some things I will never change, love. Our reservations are at seven."

"Seven it is, then."

"Kiss me again," he growled.

Hermione's mouth curved into a sultry smirk, and she leaned in, but was startled by a door banging open.

"IF YOU DON'T GET MOVING, HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER, I'M GOING TO START TAKING OFF MY CLOTHES JUST HERE." Ginny was shaking a spa robe at her.

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione pushed Draco away, but he grabbed at her, teasingly.

"Hold up, Granger. Let's see if she means it."

She rolled her eyes and blew him a kiss. He huffed, winked at her, and turned to walk away, hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders braced against the wind.

Hermione breathed in the warm perfume of the salon and grimaced at the expression on Ginny's face. "Umm, sorry, Gin."

Ginny pursed her lips in a good imitation of her mother, "Well, I was going to ask if you've just been winding Harry and Ron up, but I see that was a silly thought."

Hermione realized her face was laughably dreamy, but she didn't try to rearrange it. "No, I'm not. I love him."

Ginny looked at her with an even mixture of disbelief and admiration. "Well, I guess "girl time" to catch me up to speed was well overdue. George said he owed you for your help at the shop. He paid for massages, manicures, and blow outs."

Hermione sighed. "I adore your brother."

Ginny grinned, obviously pleased. "This one earns your adoration. I told him this erases all his poor behavior up to my tenth birthday."

Whilst on the massage table, being rubbed into a puddle of soft muscles, Hermione mulled over her career plans, evaluating them according to how frequently she would be able to afford massages. Hélène scrubbed her pink with a sugary paste, and Hermione took a scalding shower and snuggled into a white, fluffy robe. The afternoon lazed, and Hermione and Ginny tried, without discussion to - just for this day - avoid the loss, recovery and grief that had, at times, overwhelmed them. Hermione was able, for a while, to deftly avoid the hardships of hiding and war which kept the conversation to giddy gossip about current events. Hermione could not keep her balance for long, as she noticed with a tug at her heart that Ginny craved knowing details about the man she loved and lost for a year from a friend who loved him and held the secrets. Hermione broke their unspoken resolution to keep the conversation light and pulled the soft, flannel shirt of Harry's from her bag and folded it into Ginny's lap, passing the torch to the woman who would know him more intimately than she ever had. Ginny smoothed her hands over the worn fabric, and looked as if she might cry. Hermione looked at Ginny, always left behind, satisfied with any of Harry that Ron or she would share, accepting the scraps left on the table, generously repackaged for her later consumption. She imagined it often felt cruel.

Hermione couldn't ignore their lives, but she didn't want today to be maudlin for them, so she launched into one of the rare, silly stories from their flight. Ginny allowed herself to be pulled into it.

"...and then Ron said, 'Merlin, Hermione! This soup tastes like shite!' And then Harry says, 'I was washing my pants in that pot, you stupid prat!"

They giggled, but Ginny still looked pained, still aware of all she had missed, still a fresh loss among many.

"Ginny. He loves you so much. He used to get so quiet when Ron would talk about you. He'd always volunteer for watch on those days, and he'd come back in pale and red-eyed. I think he was angrier with Ron for leaving than I was. Ron broke my heart, but Harry was furious. I think he was jealous that he might go home to you."

"He should have known I'd hex Ron bloody."

"I think for a while he hoped."

Ginny beamed. "Thank you for bringing him back to me."

Hermione smiled a faraway smile. "I had help. He's told you about his mother."

"Yes," Ginny breathed. "And mine. And Draco's."

Hermione blinked rapidly. "Yes."

Ginny continued, her mind on a tangent. "Draco. He apologized to me for making me a target for his bully of a father. I said my father had the pleasure of looking down on his long before we were born."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "What did he say to that?"

Ginny affected Draco's posh accent, but took the mocking edge off. "'That's a refreshing response, Weasley. Like an arctic plunge.' And then he said he bet on me in his house Quidditch bracket and to please not ruin it for him."

Ginny turned mischievous. "He's an excellent kisser, isn't he?"

"Ginny!"

Ginny was undeterred. She leaned back and cocked an eyebrow. "In my fourth year, I overhead Daphne Greengrass and Romilda Vane debating about who the best kisser at Hogwarts was. Daphne said she used to play Spin the Bottle with Draco, Theo, and Blaise, and the girls learned wandless magic to make the butterbeer stop on Draco.

"Oh, Merlin!" Hermione laughed uncomfortably. "In fifth year, I would have thought it would be Blaise."

"Too much tongue."

"Oh, urgh! Stop, or I will tell you what Ron kisses like."

"A washed-up carp. We all saw with Lavender."

The accidental mention of their dead classmate quieted them.

Hermione mused, "Parvati came back to Hogwarts because of Lavender."

Ginny's eyes grew wide. "Is she a ghost?"

"No," Hermione shuddered. "I think she wanted to finish because Lavender couldn't."

"Oh, wow." Ginny quieted for a moment to think of the two friends. She gave a little grin. "So, Parvati and Seamus, eh? Bet that is like watching an endless coin toss. Those two are rather equally matched."

"Seems like everyone is getting matched doesn't it?"

"Mum said that is what happened during the last war. The Potters were eighteen. So were she and Dad. Mum said war made them feel old and chased away what didn't matter."

"Gods, sometimes I feel ancient."

"Well, you still look young. You've let many wounds go, though, that's for sure."

Hermione sniffed a rueful laugh. "I have, at that." She smiled fondly at Ginny, who began as a tag-along with whom she'd been generous, then a girl who was meant to be her sister-in-law, but was now a woman with whom Hermione could find a needed acceptance and friendship. They relaxed into their chairs and closed their eyes, and Hermione lazed and chatted mindlessly as her nails were painted pink and her hair was gathered behind her in a knot of thick curls. They slid into their evening wear: Hermione had brought a silver tulle skirt that fell to the knee with a matching fitted top that slid off her shoulders. Ginny looked dangerously beautiful, and Hermione made sure to pay attention to Harry's face when his girlfriend got out of the cab they were taking to the Muggle hotel.

Hermione could see Harry and Draco standing stiffly outside The Savoy, both in slim black Muggle suits. She was glad Ginny was able to get out first, and she was rewarded with seeing Harry's eyes widen at his girlfriend, her hair loose in thick waves, clad in a black leather dress. She smiled as she saw Draco ignore Ginny and scowl through the tint of the cab windows, looking for her. She slid out of the car, and flicked her face up to watch Draco's eyes darken as he licked his lips.

"Hi, handsome," she breathed, and pecked his jaw.

"Hermione. Beautiful," he whispered, and kissed her neck, above her pearls.

The hotel was Muggle, but Draco pressed a combination of elevator buttons, and the elevator rose to a floor that he explained was for wizards, who couldn't sustain such a grand hotel with their limited numbers but preferred to not hide their magic, especially if they were celebrating. They were guided to a table for ten, and Hermione appreciated his ability to pull together a party on such short notice. The ballroom was softly lit; glowing orbs, flickering like candlelight, floated over the tables which were set with golden flatware and lustreware, making them shimmer. The small crowd was thankfully young; Hermione was worried about running into Ministry officials or reporters this evening.

Anthony and Justin were seated already, speaking in animated, rapid French with Blaise's girlfriend, who was probably the most beautiful woman Hermione had seen that was not airbrushed in a Muggle magazine. She remembered Blaise being aloof in school, but she was surprised to see him clap an arm around Draco and pull him into a brisk slap of a hug. He then slid to Hermione and Ginny and kissed their hands, and they both had to refrain from looking at each other and thinking about Spin the Bottle. He introduced them all to his girlfriend, and Hermione greeted Anthony and Justin, chatting with them until Dean and Susan swept in, Dean clasping hands with his mates and pulling Hermione into a hug, murmuring "You look spectacular," in her ear.

Ginny and Hermione were now both studying Dean and Susan, as Dean pulled away from his polite embrace with Ginny and took Susan's hand, giving it a squeeze. _More than just one date, it seems._ Susan was matching the room wearing a glittering, golden dress, and an expression Hermione had never seen before, as she looked up adoringly at the man grasping her hand as though she were the Golden Snitch.

They settled at the table, Hermione noticing with interest that the two men with the longest, bitterest rivalry chose seats directly opposite one another. Hermione expected they had days of conversations they either dreaded or craved to air, but they awkwardly fell into a utilitarian conversation about home remodeling, as Draco had some thoughts about a contractor who promised there was no such thing as a Permanent Sticking Charm. Harry made a note of the name; he was eager to remove Mrs. Black from the wall of his new home.

The conversation grew more familiar when Draco asked with a smirk if Teddy was still as handsome as he'd left him; after Harry rolled his eyes and murmured a retort that she didn't catch but made Draco bark with laughter, Harry talked to his amiable audience about Teddy and his parents. Draco looked thoughful, perhaps even sad, when Harry described his affection for Nymphadora, for her warm, cheeky nature and her bravery, not only in battle, but also in love. Harry kindly noticed the discomfort and loss on Draco's face, which in some ways matched his own grief, and he rolled the conversation to Teddy, about whom Hermione could see Draco was already fond.

"He'll need a toy broomstick," Draco directed.

"I will be buying that for him, thank you. Sirius bought me mine. A godfather's job, I reckon."

"He should have a Nimbus." Draco seemed to crave involvement in this tiny cousin, whom he'd just met.

"Yeah, you are probably right about that. Safe, tight turning." Harry agreed, grudgingly.

At this, Hermione remembered her disastrous first date which resulted in Draco bleeding in an alleyway. Her eyes narrowed.

"Not a Nimbus. How about a Comet?"

The two men looked at her with the same incredulous expression at her contribution to the discussion, which gave Hermione a rush of amusement and fondness.

Harry shook off his amazement and turned back to Draco. "Well, the quarter-size Comet would be a good starter option, I suppose. Not fast."

Draco nodded. "My mother always was upset at the speed the Nimbus could gather in the house." He gave an odd look to Hermione, who was smothering her grin in her wineglass.

This resulted in a long discussion about the finer points of Quidditch, and although Ginny had more to add to the dialogue than they with her status as a professional player, she was too busy pulling faces at Hermione, as the two women carried on a wordless conversation about their boyfriends.

Dinner continued comfortably, and soon Hermione and Draco drifted to the dance floor, and Hermione basked in his attention and the music; the small amount of wine she'd had made her feel relaxed but present. They danced, and drank, and mingled with their friends, spotting a few faces from Hogwarts who were, like they, dancing to forget the year and greet the one to come. Hermione felt as though she'd already fallen in love with Draco, but seeing him here, handsome and at ease and _hers_, made her breath catch with a depth of feeling that she'd not yet experienced.

And then it was almost midnight, and she was whispering to him, asking him if wizards and witches kiss when the clock strikes, and he was breathing on her neck, "Yes, yes, we do," and he kissed her, as a chime rumbled in her chest, welcoming in the new year. They kissed, lost in each other, ignoring the fireworks, and the confetti, and the cheers. Time had stopped, and it was perfect. She slowly broke the kiss, and he looked at her with such tenderness, Hermione didn't want to move.

She was startled by a harsh voice behind her.

"That's him, it is."

A hand grabbed her arm. Draco snapped at this and his left hand flew to her, his right to his wand, but as fast as he was, he was not as fast as the men lying in wait for them, and Hermione looked down to see Draco's hands bound behind him.

"Nicholas Sly. Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Draco Malfoy, you are under arrest for the murder of your father, Lucius Malfoy."

Draco clamped his shocked mouth shut, his mind working to catch up with the moment. The scuffle was so quick that their fellow partygoers didn't yet register a disturbance.

Hermione gasped, and the breath gave her words. She shouted, "What are you doing? His father was given the Kiss! He - his body - is at home at Malfoy Manor!"

"At home, yes. Dead. Murdered by his son. Let's go."

The two men in uniform robes clamped their hands on Draco and apparated him from the room.


	38. Salvio Hexia

Hermione's breath came in ragged gasps. She was brought back to the terror of fighting Rowle and Dolohov at Tottenham Court Road and later her capture by filthy Greyback and the Snatchers in the woods. She staggered; the gentle fizz of champagne gone and replaced by the sober numbness of shock. Harry was at her side at once, holding her up. Ginny flew behind him and took over the task of steadying her as Harry put his forehead to Hermione's to speak to her quietly without having to move her or the details of her memory. Hermione could, through her fog, sense a shift to Auror in him, and for once she was grateful for his training.

"Hermione. What exactly did those men say?"

"H-he said he was Nic-Nicholas Sly. Sly. From M-Magical Law Enforcement. That he was arresting D-Draco for murder." As she said this word aloud, a wave of nausea swept her. "Lucius is dead. They bound Draco's hands, and he's g-gone. Oh. Oh, God no, Harry. What if they let a D-Dementor..." She started to shiver, as though the creature were in the room with them, circling in for a Kiss.

Harry warmed her in his arms, but his usually affectionate tone was replaced by a logical briskness. "The policy wasn't tied to Lucius Malfoy's Kiss, for obvious reasons, but the Ministry don't let Dementors near prisoners as guards now. They have a put a hold on ordering the Kiss as capital punishment, and there is some talk in the Wizengamot to make that permanent. So no. Let's not think like that. Listen, I'm going to send a Patronus to Kingsley. I am going to MLE headquarters. Ron was taking Phillipa out tonight. I'm calling him in."

Harry searched Hermione's face quickly to see if she followed. He nodded with a proud smile as he saw her distraught face smooth into the determined one he remembered from battle. He turned to Ginny, her face hard and furious. She spoke to her boyfriend in a low voice. "I'm not leaving her, Harry." He nodded, kissed them both, and disapparated.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and wished she'd given Draco a charmed Galleon after all. "Merlin, Draco, what do you want me to do first? What should I do first?" She breathed slowly, in through her nose, out through her mouth. She opened her eyes to Ginny's grim face. "I have to go to Malfoy Manor."

The rest of the table had rushed over and circled around the two women. Her eyes left Ginny's, and she could see each friend's face registering a range of wariness, confusion, and concern.

Ginny chewed her lip. "I'm frankly scared that this is some sort of trap. We didn't recognize those men." She looked away, sorting and plotting, her teeth working her lip furiously. She took a big breath and spoke in a brisk clip, again reminding Hermione of Mrs. Weasley.

"Do all the D.A. have their coins with them?" Justin, Anthony, Susan, and Dean nodded and fished for them for confirmation.

She turned to Eirenne. "This is an awful introduction to our friends, Eirenne. I am so sorry for a ruined evening. Could you help us? Could you go to Shell Cottage and tell my brother and Fleur what just happened? Could you tell them I am going to Malfoy Manor with Hermione..."

"And me," Blaise said, startling Hermione and Ginny.

Ginny nodded appraisingly at Blaise. "And Blaise."

Eirenne drew herself up, reminding Hermione of Fleur, elegant even in war. She murmured _oui_, pecked Blaise on the lips, and disapparated. Blaise stared at the spot she'd left.

"Dean," Ginny continued, "you aren't putting a toe anywhere near the Malfoy dungeon tonight. Would you and Susan get in touch with Neville and Hannah? They would want to know what has happened. Send a coin message to Parvati and Seamus, if you can." Susan looked at Dean, and then Hermione, and said, "Hermione, we love you," and they turned away on the spot with a loud crack.

"Anthony, Justin, Draco made such a fuss about paying for everything. Can you tell the elves we've had to leave and make sure the bill goes to Draco's account? Tell them if they have a problem with a frozen account to send the bill to me. We don't need any more trouble for Draco right now. I'll be in touch with you both. Please tell me if you hear anything here that would be useful?"

Anthony and Justin looked grimly around the room and nodded.

Ginny had given Hermione time and courage. She looked up to see Blaise studying her, and when their eyes met, he gave her a small smile of reassurance. Blaise, who had only ever considered her with a cold appraisal, now was moved by _something_ to comfort her. That something formed tears Hermione blinked away. There was no time for crying. She spoke, forcing down the tremor in her voice.

"Take my hands, please. Malfoy Manor."

The three landed on the grounds and Hermione rushed to the door, frantic. Blaise and Ginny pulled their wands to cover her rashness. At once, Hermione realized her foolishness, and she pulled her wand from the pocket in her skirt. Oddly, she felt no fear here now.

The gates swung open wordlessly. There were lights on the second floor, but the doors were locked. Hermione pounded on the door, fruitlessly. She centered herself, and thought of her last kiss with Draco, and sent an otter from her wand, sailing through wood and stone. She stood, letting the tingle from her wand and the memory of that kiss fortify her. A minute later, they heard the scrape of a lock, and Munro opened the door and showed them in, closing the door firmly behind them.

Munro looked tired, but his bright eyes were working the room, looking for Draco. He held his tongue and listened to Hermione who began to speak as he opened his mouth. "Munro, you might remember Blaise Zabini, Draco's friend?" The two exchanged a curt nod, and Munro's face started to register concern.

"Where is Mr. Malfoy - Draco?"

Hermione held up a hand to stall him and her tears. "Munro, this is Ginny Weasley. Blaise and Ginny have come to help us. Oh, Munro, is it true Lucius is dead? Where is Narcissa?"

Munro looked more agitated at the obvious question remaining unanswered, but he obliged Hermione. "Aye. He died juist a while ago. Aroond ten o'clock. She thought he was in pain. She rang th' Healer again, bit Mr. Malfoy juist stopped breathin'. Quick. She tried tae send a Patronus t' Draco bit she couldn't, an th' other elves were tae scared tae leave her an' find you. She owled St. Mungo's, thinking thay would send a Healer, but two wizards - Magical Law Enforcement - shawed up asking for him, pul'in their wands. She had to tell thaim. They took th' body. Jenks was going to go wi'oot an order bit ah suppose they found ye t' notify ye." He looked around warily. "Where is he? Where's Draco?"

"They didn't come to notify him. They came to arrest him. For murder."

Munro gaped at them.

Hermione continued, "Harry Potter is looking for him. He's getting help. We're getting help. We aren't sure why this is happening, and we came to help you and Narcissa. How is she? Does she want company?"

Munro looked distant, distracted by this turn of events. "I dunnae, Miss. I dinnae want her to lash out..."

"I'll go," Blaise said firmly.

Hermione looked at him searchingly and nodded.

"Shall we follow you?"

"Yes, I think so."

Blaise needed no direction; he walked with purpose and familiarity up the staircase toward the Malfoys' private rooms. He knocked on the door to Mr. Malfoy's room.

"Mrs. Malfoy? It's Blaise Zabini, ma'am. May I come in?"

"Blaise?" A thin voice, strangled by tears, called out behind the heavy door.

They heard footsteps and the door opened, Narcissa gripping it as a crutch. Blaise entered, leaving Ginny and Hermione at the door.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I am sorry for your loss," Blaise bowed his head slightly but kept his eyes on her.

Mrs. Malfoy shook her head distractedly. "Blaise. Where is Draco?"

Blaise sighed. "Mrs. Malfoy, Draco was taken from us just now by two men who said they were with Magical Law Enforcement. They arrested him...for your husband's murder. Harry Potter is contacting the Ministry now. He's calling on Minister Shacklebolt.

Narcissa swayed, and Blaise took her elbow to steady her. He looked for a chair to summon behind her. Narcissa's eyes ranged over the floor, taking in these words. She looked up at Blaise and spoke in a whisper that grew to a wail, "They will give him the Kiss. They will kill him, too! Where is Hermione?"

Ginny and Hermione were frozen at the doorway in shock.

Blaise looked at Hermione and saw she was immobile, her eyes wide. He lowered Narcissa into the chair and drew Hermione into the room. Hermione knelt down to the chair and murmured, "Narcissa, I am here," and she was immediately grabbed by Narcissa, who pulled her into an embrace which forced Hermione to her knees. Narcissa Malfoy sobbed great, choking sobs. Ginny had just heard this cry from her mother, on the day of the last battle and for many days since, and Hermione pulled her head back enough to see the tears swimming in Ginny's eyes. Ginny, to be certain, had no sympathy for Narcissa Malfoy, but she knew that wail.

Hermione stopped thinking of what might be happening elsewhere and tried to focus on this wretched woman in front of her, shaking in her arms. She had no love for Mrs. Malfoy either, but Draco loved his mother, and she and Hermione both loved him, and this had to be the place, right now, where she was supposed to be. They sat in this contorted embrace for several minutes, Narcissa's hysteria preventing her from listening or speaking, until her exhaustion quieted her.

Sensing Narcissa's quieting, Hermione began to think. She pulled away from her and summoned a chair toward them so she could sit.

"Narcissa, is it right that the Healers didn't come for Mr. Malfoy's body?"

"N-no. Law Enforcement. T-thought it w-was odd. S-said they had to c-confirm his d-death because w-we were c-criminals. W-when we owled St. M-Mungo's, they s-said they had to call Magical Law Enforcement to p-proceed."

Narcissa leaned over her chair and fell onto Hermione. "They will kill my boy." She broke again into sobs.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione's voice was shaky but insistent. "Harry has gone to him. Harry is helping. I don't trust these men, but I trust him. And Minister Shaklebolt." Hermione said these things aloud to calm herself as much as the broken woman who had half slid into her lap.

Ginny quietly approached Blaise. "Blaise? Come with me. I think we should set up wards. I'm spending too much time around Aurors. This whole thing feels off."

Blaise nodded. As they turned to leave, Ginny's head jerked up, alert.

"Harry," she murmured.

Suddenly, a large stag of blue light cantered into the room. Narcissa's eyes grew wide, and her grip on Hermione slackened.

Harry's voice burst forth, "I am with Draco. He is safe. Please send him news. I've reached Kingsley. Ron is here. We are working." The stag flicked its head and cantered through the wall.

Hermione worn from her last Patronus and from worry, gathered herself, choosing this time an image of a handsome man who'd just left boyhood, with seemingly nothing else to lose, shyly offering to sharpen her silver Potions dagger. An otter exploded with a fierce burst of light out of her wand and shot through the window, its flight path curving sharply past the windows to London.

Blaise gasped. "Wow."

Ginny started to bounce on the balls of her feet, impatient to secure the Manor. "Umbridge didn't teach you that one in the Inquisitorial Squad?" She flashed him a grin as he slid his eyes to hers. She cocked her head towards the door. "Blaise?"

Blaise jerked his eyebrows and nodded at Mrs. Malfoy as he swept from the room.


	39. Incendio Duo

**A/N: Thank you for your kind reviews. I learn from each of them. They, and the follows and favorites, are very encouraging. I appreciate all of it. This one has a direct quote from _The Deathly Hallows_, I do believe. Thanks as always to J.K. Rowling. **

Hermione guided Narcissa to her own room and encouraged her towards sleep. Narcissa's familiarity and comfort with her was a shock. Hermione had to remind herself that there wasn't any affection behind it. His mother saw her as little more than a useful house elf who hadn't yet tried to steal the silver spoons. Yet it made her feel better to care for Narcissa; Hermione was frantic with worry about Draco, and this task gave her purpose and focus. She knew Draco would be grateful for it.

_Draco. Why this, now? Certainly Kingsley had the Ministry headed in the right direction. Draco was obviously innocent. Who was behind this? If someone wanted Draco in Azkaban, why was his trial so smooth?_ Even the most wounded Muggle-born, and there were many, didn't find fault with the testimony of Harry Potter, even if they hated what Draco had stood for once.

As she sat on the bed alone in the guest room, a thrill of horror crept over her. _Sly. Nicholas Sly._ _Christopher Sly_. She hadn't gotten a good look at the officers. _Was that a common name in wizarding England?_ Guilt and nausea built in her belly as she shakily fished her Galleon from her purse and sent a message to Harry.

_Nicholas Sly. Christopher Sly. What news? Scared. _

_ Hermione x_

She tapped nervously at the coin, willing it to reply, but nothing came. She went back to Lucius Malfoy's room to see if the owl was still there. The bed still bore the imprint of the elder Malfoy's body in the plush layers of linens. The quilt had been folded carefully at the end of the bed.

The owl looked up at her mournfully as it poked a claw at its empty food tray. Hermione grabbed a jar of owl treats from the mahogany secretary and dropped a few in. She opened drawers until she found a parchment and quill.

_Ron,_

_ Harry said he was going to "call you in," whatever that means, so I won't repeat everything, but I feel so helpless right now, &amp; Harry's not answering his Galleon. I'm scared, and even though Ginny, who has been wonderful, is here with me, I'm frustrated I can't help there. Please tell me news. _

_ I am so sorry your date was ruined. Please let Phillipa know I feel wretched about it._

_ Hermione x_

Hermione was used to the control research and planning gave her. She considered looking in the Malfoy library for current law texts. This isolation was maddening, and she wept from the frustration of it. Realizing the futility in tears, she calmed herself and looked for Ginny and Blaise. She found them in the dining room having a cup of tea.

"Sorry we didn't come find you," Ginny said as she added milk to her second cup. "Thought you might be with Mrs. Malfoy. Heard anything?"

"No. You?"

"No. House is locked up tight, though. Think it would pass your inspection. Mum taught me wards after the wedding."

"Thank you both for coming."

Blaise sniffed, as though he'd taken offense. "Draco and I have been mates for years. Of course I'd come."

Ginny cut in with a wave of her hand, "Blaise here was just making this early morning much less awkward by telling me that we were both lucky to have been included on the Slytherin boys' 'Hotties of Hogwarts' list, weren't you, Blaise?"

Blaise shrugged incredulously. "Figured you'd be flattered. Gryffies were the worst, because you were fit enough to take half the spots, but we'd all agreed to steer clear."

Hermione blinked at him. "Gryffies. Well. I'm sorry, Blaise. That must have been very hard for you," she said, dryly.

Blaise nodded thoughtfully. "You did make things rather difficult."

At this, Ginny and Hermione shared a sideways look at the Slytherin.

"Aren't you..." - Hermione shook off the odd detour - "at all worried about Draco?"

Blaise shook his head. "Nah, I'm not worried about him with Potter as his shadow. Worried about the Ministry though. Glad I moved to France. Bit of a wreck of an evening. That git owes me a proper party. Perhaps the Ministry should pay for it."

Ginny smoothed her voice into ice. "Why don't we get your mate home first?"

Blaise waved this off.

Just then, Hermione spotted an owl settling onto a ledge near the windows. She let it in and took off the tiny parchment, frowning at its slim size. She picked off the wax Auror seal and read.

_Hermione,_

_ In Ministry Archives. Reading. _

_ There will be other dates with Pip._

_ Talk soon,_

_ Ron x_

Hermione tossed the parchment to Ginny and began to pace the floor in frustration. _At the library! Some owl!_ Ginny furrowed her brow and flicked the note onto the table. Blaise picked it up with two long fingers and pulled a pair of chunky black spectacles out of his pocket and slid them on. For lack of any news or stimulation to break their stasis, Hermione and Ginny both stared as Blaise examined the note. He looked up at them, and the women both bit back gasps of shocked laughter when they met his magnified, owlish eyes.

Blaise grinned, believing them to share in his amusement. "I know! I can't believe King Weasley can read or pull a bird, either!" He snapped his fingers holding the parchment, and it vanished. He peeled off his glasses and pocketed them. "Look, we should try to sleep. There appears to be no threat here, although I agree, Ginny, the wards were a good idea. We've no idea how long the Ministry are going to hold him, and we should stay with Mrs. Malfoy until we know more. I'm going to bed. I have a photo shoot on the fourth, and I don't use glamour charms."

Ginny stared at him, her mouth slightly open. When he caught her staring and winked, she gave him a scathing look and turned to Hermione.

"S'pose you're right, Blaise," Hermione murmured.

Blaise wandered to Draco's room, and Hermione gave Ginny a pair of pajamas, and they settled themselves into the massive guest bed. Ginny quickly settled into the deep, even breath of sleep, but Hermione turned restlessly, worried for Draco and increasingly angry at Harry and Ron. She felt equally guilty; they had dropped everything without question to run to her side. Ron left..._Pip?_ But again, the two men had run off, as they did to Auror training, and left her behind.

She slipped into sleep as the weak morning sky was softened from black to the greyest of blues. When she awoke, she was alone. She washed and dressed and raced downstairs.

Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott were having tea in the dining room. They both stood and hugged Hermione as she entered.

Neville smiled at her. "Glad you slept. Ginny figured you were up most of the night. We got here an hour ago. Blaise gave us a tour. He's with Mrs. Malfoy. Ginny was writing owls."

"We owled Harry. Have we heard anything?"

Hannah shook her head. "And the _Prophet_ has been mum about it. If they run this story, they have to roll out the story of the Dementors left unattended with a prisoner. Probably want to see where public opinion is on the Ministry before they unfold that. Honestly, the hottest beat for that lot of reporters in the row of bar stools in front of Tom's counter. I hear that Kingsley is popular; people trust him, but there has always been tension between Magical Law Enforcement and the Aurors."

Neville nodded, thoughtfully. "I spoke with Narcissa this morning, briefly. I think a Pepper Up potion is an odd recommendation for a man in his condition, but the potion masters and herbologists I know in the apothecary at St. Mungo's tell me it's never dangerous to administer to an adult. And it's definitely Pepper Up Narcissa gave Lucius. I looked at the dregs in the bottle, which interestingly," Neville fished a plastic bag with a bottle out of his bag, "no one took for evidence." He turned the bottle over in the weak daylight, and put it back in his satchel.

An owl tapped to enter. Hermione grasped the note with shaking fingers.

_All,_

_ I've finally finished the paperwork to give Narcissa Malfoy permission to leave the Manor and come here to visit. An arrest on New Year's Eve really slows everything down. Draco just got similar permission earlier in the week, but another signature is required, as she is the mother of a murder suspect now in addition to having been under house arrest._

_Haven't seen Ron at all today yet. He seemed to expect my Patronus. I mentioned the names you sent. He sent this reply, "Five points to Gryffindor."_

_ I'm working with Kingsley. He is furious. No one in his office is interested in Draco personally (sorry, Hermione) but this all stinks like Goyle's Polyjuice. M.L.E. won't let me move Draco to a holding cell in the Auror office, so I moved my bloody desk into their bloody lockup. I've made no friends today. The Ministry Quidditch League is going to be brutal this year. Remind me to bring a Healer to the first match. _

_ Neville, save that bottle. We may need it._

_ Draco thanked me for keeping myself between him and the M.L.E., but otherwise, he's been silent. Pacing._

_ You may all come here at any time._

_ I shouldn't have written half of this down. It's going to explode after you read it, so watch out._

_ Harry_

Hermione tossed the note on the floor to combust after reading it aloud and swept from the room to gather her travel companions, her belongings, and herself.

* * *

As the group made their way into the Ministry, Hermione tried to avoid summoning the dread she felt at her last visit here, Polyjuiced as Mafalda Hopkirk. They made their way to the M.L.E. office, where they found a holiday skeleton crew of junior officers covering the owls. With a flood of guilt, Hermione noticed Harry was still wearing his suit from their New Year's party. His tie was gone, and his face sported a dark shadow of stubble. As his letter had predicted, he'd made an obvious show of his lack of trust in this department; his solid oak desk was plunked down nose-to-nose with the bars of the small cell opposite. Draco was his obverse; he too was wearing the same clothes, but he remained crisp. His pale hair camouflaged his lack of a shave, and his tie was still knotted and drawn to his collar. Unlike Harry's tired but calm face, Draco's was tight with anger, purple shadows under his eyes the only concession to his situation.

Narcissa pulled away from Hermione and swept to the bars of the cell to touch what limbs she could cling to. Draco smiled a weak smile at his mother, but his eyes moved to roam searchingly over Hermione. He relaxed visibly when she smiled bracingly at him, but he stiffened again when Harry stood to fold Hermione into a hug. Hermione kept her eyes on Draco's, and as Narcissa was given a chair, Hermione walked to the bars and put her mouth through to kiss Draco gently. She considered condolences for his father, but bit them down; he really had died the day the Dementors were allowed in his cell. She knew better than to show defeat or panic, though she felt both.

"You do know how to ring in a new year," she murmured in his ear.

"Funny." Draco looked as though his thin nerves wanted to be annoyed at this, and they would have, if it were not for the kiss he could still taste. Defeated and embarrassed, he rested his forehead on a bar and took her hand in his.

Narcissa turned and asked no one in particular, "Why have they arrested my son?" She was not too lost in grief for her voice to keep a sharp edge.

Harry took the question, his voice sliding into a clinically thoughtful tone. "I don't know. The paper trail is glaringly thin. But you were right, Ginny," he paused to give an admiring smile to his girlfriend, losing himself and pinking slightly before returning to his papers, "to have Justin and Anthony sort out the bill and settle it on you if needed - all Malfoy accounts have been frozen, and all legal and banking paperwork after Mrs. Malfoy transferred control of the estate to Draco has been suspended by M.L.E. What I am working on at present is when this freeze of assets happened. Curiously, I have a document from a Gringotts goblin which seems to indicate this freeze of assets occurred before the banks closed for the holiday."

"Before Mr. Malfoy's death?" Hermione wondered.

"Looks that way," Harry said. "The copies I ordered are a bit smudged, and I am being stalled by a complete lack of professional cooperation," - here his voice rose, and he glared at a portly wizard at a desk piled high with files - "in my request to see the original document. You needn't worry about us Aurors being in danger from criminals, Hermione; I will die of heart disease sitting at a desk at this rate."

Neville pulled out the plastic bag holding the bottle of Pepper Up and handed it to Harry, who nodded in thanks and pocketed it. Neville jammed his hands in his pockets and cocked his head at Harry. "They don't have anything from St. Mungo's that says the cause of death was unnatural?" He looked at Narcissa and made an apologetic face, "Where is Mr. Malfoy now?"

"Downstairs," Harry replied. In the morgue. "St. Mungo's wanted nothing to do with this; they only contacted M.L.E. as they were legally required to do. M.L.E. told them to leave it to law enforcement. We don't know what M.L.E.'s evidence is. Because they aren't cooperating interdepartmentally." Harry raised his voice again at that comment and then muttered. "Seriously. Quidditch. Probably shouldn't have even signed up for the league. I'm a marked man."

"There's a first," Draco's quiet comment startled the group save Harry, who snorted a laugh. Hermione wondered what passed between the two men during the long night.

All I am getting from M.L.E. is that they weren't prepared to have any opposition to any of this. They were rather under the impression, I believe, that the Malfoys didn't have any..." he looked over at Draco cooly, cocking an eyebrow, "friends. There is a preliminary hearing tomorrow morning at 9 o'clock."

Ginny pursed her lips. "See that they don't change the time. Be a shame to have done all this work for nothing."

Harry waved his wand and pointed it at the men seated at desks nearby. "_Muffliato." _He smiled pleasantly at the portly wizard who looked up and narrowed his eyes at the group. "Kingsley tells me that there has been tension for years between the Auror Department and the M.L.E. They tend to step on each other's toes, and they are reluctant to share information which may lead to sharing glory. M.L.E. is a big bureaucracy, and they were under the thumb of the Death Eaters last year, so many of the best disappeared or were sacked. But Kingsley can't sack them all. Some of them, though, are chaffing at an Auror turned Minister. They think they can go rogue if they wish. That's why Kingsley came in to sort this out, but he's upstairs working on which heads are going to roll. I'm working on getting Draco out."

"And Ron? What is he doing holed up in the Archives?" Hermione thought it was odd that the two best friends were not side by side. She trusted Ron, but his silence and distance were curious.

"Haven't heard from him since," Harry shrugged. "Honestly, I've been swamped with this."

Draco huffed in frustration, getting everyone's attention. "Maybe you should just go home, Potter. I'm not sure the Ministry want me helped out of this one."

Neville drew himself up and looked at Draco with a withering expression. "You've been spending too much time with Hermione and Harry, Malfoy. Such chivalry and the insistence on doing everything on your own. You can't fix this in that cage, mate. Why don't you let us help you, if only for Hermione, yeah?"

Draco blinked at him, looking chastened.

Harry grinned at Neville and turned to Narcissa. "Mrs. Malfoy? The M.L.E. won't approve your appearance at the hearing. I think you will be safe. Let them take you home, and they can bring a set of clean robes for Draco. If everything goes well, he will be home with you tomorrow."

Defeated and exhausted, Mrs. Malfoy nodded and murmured her thanks. Harry turned to his girlfriend. "Gin? Can you grab some robes for me at home? And some food - the tearoom is closed, and I'm not moving from this desk without one of you to keep watch."

Ginny went to run her errands, and Hermione said goodbye to the rest who planned to return for the hearing in the morning. She'd taken Narcissa back to the Manor and returned with clothes and bedding. It was an odd party that evening in the Ministry - a double date with one of the four behind bars. Hermione and Harry shared the feeling that keeping watch, which they had done for so many months, had a familiarity to it that was not entirely unwelcome. For all the misery, fear, and privation, the months with two men she loved had been a gift she would always keep. Exhausted from hours that had not been properly broken into days and nights, Ginny propped herself up to watch the hallway while Harry lay on his desk wrapped in a Holyhead Harpies blanket. Hermione and Draco had both settled on the floor; their arms wrapped in each other as the bars would allow, Hermione in a sleeping bag and Draco, tie and shoes finally discarded, curled up inside his father's softest quilt which she had pulled from Lucius' room on the way out.

Hermione had been roused from sleep early in the morning by a weary Ginny, who begged for a nap before the day began. She untangled herself from Draco and sat watch, waking them each in turn to wash up and change for the hearing.

The courtroom was a small one which thankfully did not conjure any horrific memories from last year. Draco managed to look steely and unflappable, but with this new set of wizarding robes, Hermione could see the dark red welts on his wrists from the bindings when he was taken into custody. He was flanked by two officers, and the group of friends were grudgingly given seating to view the proceedings. Draco's solicitor was in attendance, but it was clear that it was a formality; Harry was sitting at the table with the two of them, a file of parchment in front of his place. The judge was shuffling through papers as well, and Hermione dwelled on the workaday tedium of paperwork in contrast to the panic she was feeling at this hearing to decide Draco's life. And hers. _Where was Ron? _Hermione looked, yet again, as she had every minute since she awoke, for any sign of her friend. Harry had left him a chair, but it was still empty.

The two arresting officers had been summoned, and Nicholas Sly and his partner took their seats. Hermione ignored Nicholas' glare and examined him. He wasn't as handsome as Christopher, but she could easily believe they were brothers. A Healer filed in and took her seat in the gallery, and Hermione saw with dread that she was followed by a smug Christopher Sly, whose confident air was shaken only slightly by seeing Harry Potter seated next to the defendant.

Just then, Ron Weasley sailed into the room, flicking his head in a familiar greeting at Harry and swooping down to briefly peck Hermione on the cheek as he passed. He nodded grimly at Draco and took his seat next to Harry, leaning his lanky frame back in the wooden chair which happened to be directly opposite from Christopher Sly, at whom he gave a knowing grin.

Hermione wished desperately that she were at the head table, as she saw Harry lean over to his friend, brow furrowed. Ron kept the grin on his face and nodded.

The judge introduced herself and began proceedings. Hermione struggled through fatigue and fear to listen carefully to the charges. Murder. The M.L.E. was suggesting that the timing of the death was aligned with the estate transfer from Narcissa to Draco. The solicitor for the Ministry raised concern for the safety of Narcissa Malfoy, which caused Draco to snort, and the judge to scowl. Blood was roaring in Hermione's ears, and though the charges were flimsy and false, Hermione had witnessed a trial of a woman accused of stealing a wand at age eleven. Anything was possible. It was Harry's turn to respond, and he patiently went through the medical reports, making it clear that M.L.E. had allowed, through intent or carelessness, a Dementor to Kiss Mr. Malfoy. He carefully picked apart any medical evidence for foul play in his eventual death, and cited documentation from a Healer that Mrs. Malfoy was suffering memory loss and had knowingly consented to the transfer of power to her son. The judge nodded, surprised at the level of detail in this preliminary defense, and looked torn about how to proceed with what was supposed to be a rather short hearing before a certain trial. She was preparing to summon the arresting officers for testimony which they looked gleefully eager to give, when Ron spoke.

"Your honor, I have some information which is pertinent to the case if I may," Ron smiled cheerfully at the audience. The officers smirked. The judge nodded, slowly.

"My remarks are directed at Miss Hermione Granger."

The judge gave him a quizzical look but chose silence.

"Well, one thing about being friends with you, Hermione, is that you learn, eventually, to appreciate a good library. The Ministry has a beautiful one. I hope you work here to use it, but the records are public; anyone can fill out a form and go in. And when Harry told me that you got an owl from a strange bloke in the pub who wanted to meet you alone for a date, just a few short months after you had every Death Eater in England looking for you," he paused to glower at Draco, "I took advantage of the archives to look him up. I hope you will forgive me, but I wouldn't have forgiven myself if you had ended up with a dark wizard who wanted to settle some scores." He glared pointedly at Draco again.

He continued. "Merlin forbid you fall in love with a Death Eater."

Harry muttered. "We get it, Ron."

"Christopher was of course the bloke who asked you for a date, and was disappointed, by all accounts, when you ended your date abruptly. I spoke with employees at the pub who testified that he was very out of sorts about it. Later, as I know you and Draco will recall, I missed the opportunity to see Draco Malfoy's teeth knocked out of his skull by the same Christopher Sly, who at the time showed himself to be less than a gentleman in front of a woman he claimed to be interested in." At this Ron looked at Hermione apologetically before he continued.

"The fanaticism about dark wizards was an interesting addition - Christopher telling you he'd talked with a minister from Hogwarts about not letting in children of Death Eaters to school. I didn't like it. After dealing with Umbridge, I know how we both feel about fanatics of any persuasion. So I kept a file open. Just in case."

Ron grinned and opened a file of parchment. "I wondered when I heard about this pointless arrest if I would need my file, which I had forgotten about, and it turns out, I did. Nicholas Sly, the arresting officer, was also the officer who authored the very flimsy arrest warrant that Harry just picked apart for us. You wouldn't know this, Hermione, but I know you could easily deduce that it is very unorthodox to have one officer file all the paperwork for an arrest process. Nicholas himself has his very own file; he's known for roughing up suspected Death Eaters before their trials, which is why I asked Harry to babysit Draco last night. The fact that Christopher and Nicholas are brothers and you passed on seeing Christopher to date Draco is enough to make Nicholas not like Draco, enough to give him a hard time, maybe, but these two weren't up to conspiring to arrest someone for that. It didn't make sense. So, I wanted to know about Christopher Sly and the business dealings I had looked up after your date. And he told you the truth, Hermione; his family owns Nimbus. They also just took over the Cleensweep Corporation, making Nimbus the largest broom maker in the world, with about 60 percent of the market share. He also told you the truth about his contempt for sympathizers for former Death Eaters and that he was in London on business. But what he didn't tell you was that his business that week was a failed attempt to force a takeover of Firebolt, a public company in which the majority of the shares are currently owned by..."

"The Malfoys." The solicitor for the family seemed pleased to have information to share.

"That's right," Ron nodded encouragingly. "And when the solicitor advised Mrs. Malfoy to vote to oppose the sale, the Sly family lost a chance at an extremely profitable monopoly on brooms. May I ask the solicitor for the Malfoys what he would do if Draco went to Azkaban?"

The solicitor for the M.L.E. objected, but the judge lazily waved him off.

"Well, I'd have to push for the sale to liquidate the estate, I suppose."

Ron nodded. "That is what I thought. I'm pretty sure that is what the brothers Sly thought, too." He smiled at the judge. "I'm starving, and I need to make up a date with a sweet girl." He grinned at the corner of the room, and Hermione followed his eyes to a pale, black-haired woman with a heart-shaped face who smiled as her quill flew over a stenographer's notepad. "May we all go home now? Except for Nicholas. Some of his more ethical colleagues have a warrant for his arrest."

The judge wordlessly held out her hand for his file and poured over it for several minutes while Hermione's eyes darted between the players in this game. Finally, the judge looked up at Draco and sighed. "Dismissed."

Hermione's eyes flew to Draco, who squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He then exhaled and sent an otter soaring from his wand towards the ceiling. Hermione admired it in the brief moment as it shot away, and then she looked back at the table to see Harry and Ron with twin, open mouths at the place the otter had last been. Draco cocked an eyebrow slightly at them and smiled hesitatingly at Hermione, who unfroze and ran to tackle him in a hug.

"Oh, I love you," she breathed.

Draco hugged her hard. "I love you, too. Thank you. Without you, I would be in Azkaban."

He let go of her reluctantly and turned to Harry, and Ron, and the others to thank them each in turn.

Ron separated from the group and stood by Hermione, a small smile at his lips.

Hermione hugged him. "Thank you," she sighed. "That was amazing."

"Always the tone of surprise," Ron smirked. "Sure have more of an appreciation for my father's work now. And for journalists." He pulled away to turn and looked admiringly at the witch who had snagged the Healer and was now scribbling and nodding at Healer's animated speech. He pulled Draco back from the group, "Malfoy, if you can stand it, Pip would like an exclusive."

Draco smirked. "Better than Skeeter, I hope. I do owe you, Weasley. Quite a lot."

Ron shrugged. "I'll just wait for my new song." He pointed Draco toward Phillipa and turned to Hermione.

"An otter."

"Yes, Ron."

"How long?"

"After that bonfire. He'd already apologized. I forgave him that night."

Ron nodded, thoughtfully. "I do love you."

She looked up at him, her eyes bright. "You told me in front of the judge." Hermione tilted her head to the side and smiled up at him. "I love you, too." They turned to watch Draco talk with Phillipa, who was nodding, her brow gently furrowed. "She's very pretty, Ron."

Ron beamed. "Yes, she is, isn't she? And good. You set the bar high."

Hermione smiled through tears as she whispered, "So did you."


	40. Partis Temporus

**A/N: I have a chapter written in my head which ties to a thread I left hanging earlier, with intent to pick it up in the spring of this story, but then as I was writing today, the story decided to end. That sounds silly, but that is what happened. But I still want to write that chapter, and I want to write about Neville and Hannah's wedding, and maybe a few other things, so I will do those as small fics that can stand alone for those who haven't read this one, but will tie in for those who have. Thank you for putting up with my experiments and helping me clean up leaks and the gunpowder from minor explosions in my first long slog of a fanfic. You all are great. Cheers to loving these books.**

After an intimate, quiet evening in the Malfoy library, Draco and Hermione decided she would not attend the funeral of Lucius Malfoy. Hermione had helped him, for months, to mourn his father and to take what was precious, letting go of what was too heavy to carry. As sympathetic as she had been, Draco was the first to insist there were limits to what he could expect from her; Lucius had been eager to see her dead once, if it would have advanced his standing with Voldemort, and Draco refused to lean on her in front of an open grave as he grieved for a father who was damaged long before the Kiss. Draco arranged a simple service at the Manor, and Andromeda was a silent witness to her sister and nephew saying their goodbyes.

And so Hermione headed back to Hogwarts, and used the weekend before the start of her last term within the castle walls to read, rest, and exercise, centering herself for the end and the beginnings to come.

As she rested like a corpse on a woven mat in Savasana, her unquiet mind did consider Lucius, though, and how she could never feel satisfaction that justice was served to him, or believe that anyone's suffering, no matter how richly deserved, would ever again feel right. Her relaxed face cracked a smile when she remembered schoolgirl prayers that Pansy Parkinson would someday suffer a cruel, lingering damage for her taunts. Now it seemed retribution was a pale substitute for rehabilitation; Hermione just wanted people to be...better. Better was hard work. She had her own suffering for _better_, but Draco... With the ease in which the Ministry arrested her boyfriend, she wondered how much interest his debt had compounded, and how much longer the collectors would be knocking at the door. She supposed it wasn't her place to say when the debt was paid for anyone else but her.

All these things she pondered still at breakfast in the Great Hall, among a small gathering of children filling a table, condensed into a single house.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout, just back from holiday, entered and turned with an air of spontaneity to sit with her and the younger students, the youngest of which flushed, seeming unnerved by the intrusion.

"Hello, Miss Granger," said Sprout. "I do hope you are well."

Hermione smiled at the Herbology professor and saw her studying Hermione with a cautious smile on her face. Hermione suddenly realized that she must have been a topic of conversation, if not concern, for longer than today.

"Hello Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout." She bit her lip. "I haven't read the paper in a few days, but I wanted to let you know if you didn't either that Lucius Malfoy is dead."

Professor Sprout nodded. "Yes, there was a short obituary. The body does not last long after the soul has been removed."

Hermione ended her internal debate and abruptly offered, "Draco was arrested for his murder by Magical Law Enforcement. It was a criminal conspiracy relating to his family's business holdings. Ron and Harry worked hard, and quickly, to clear him. But it was very easy for them to make the arrest." Professor Sprout's eyebrows shot towards her flyaway hair, and Professor McGonagall scowled.

"But before that happened on New Year's Eve, we had..." Hermione struggled to find the right words for such an emotional time, "...a good holiday. It was good. I know it meant a great deal to him to be included in your Christmas, Professor McGonagall. He refused to take off the cap when his mother made a face at it," Hermione smiled at McGonagall, who was carefully studying the wall behind Hermione with a tender expression on her face, "and we tried the lures straightaway, Professor Sprout. He was chuffed about them." Professor Sprout blinked a few, rapid times and smiled at her porridge.

Professor McGonagall rested her palm on her chin in an uncharacteristically casual pose. "Please call me Minerva, Hermione." She smiled at her and then took a breath, picking at the hem in her napkin. "When you choose to teach magic," she began slowly, "you start, because you are gifted at it, like Severus was. And then, like Potter did with his secret D.A. meetings that we all knew about," she smirked, her eyes twinkling, "you realize that you love helping people find their gifts. Neville," - at this Professor Sprout dabbed at her eyes with her napkin - "will be a brilliant teacher, because he is gifted; he likes helping people, and Neville, like Remus did, has the desire to save people. An ability that comes from knowing what it feels like to need saving yourself."

Professor Sprout nodded and put her hand to her chest to echo Minerva's step toward familiarity. "Pomona, please." She nodded at her fellow professor and added, "For years, we wanted to save the children like Draco from themselves. We couldn't save him. He wouldn't let us - even Severus tried, we now know. With help from Carna, and Healers, and Neville...Harry...Dean...you, all of you, he saved himself. He was an unexpected Christmas present, but a good one, Hermione."

Sprout sighed happily and took a bite of her porridge. She added an afterthought.

"But not one I'd get drunk again."

McGonagall huffed, apparently annoyed at a point that had seemingly been made before. "Just a wee dram, Pomona!"

"_Drams._ And there was nothing _wee_ about your drams, Minerva."

Hermione was completely unnerved by the crackly giggle that came out of her Transfiguration professor.

Pomona shot Minerva an amused look but sobered at Hermione's news. "Arrested and then sprung by Weasley and Potter. Our Draco is going to be wrestling with that one. The lad doesn't like the idea of being a charity case. It took some doing to get him to accept a proper Christmas."

Hermione's teacup froze inches from her lips. _OUR Draco?_ _How...odd. But then, he was hers as well..._ She considered all of this.

"No," she murmured.

"No?" McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

"No. He's not a charity case, and he shouldn't feel like one. I mean he might, - that Malfoy pride is still there - but he got help from Carna because that is her calling. He was forgiven by us because that is the kind of people we are. But you are right, Pomona, he saved himself, didn't he? He had to feel it - to understand what he had done, and he had to want to make it better, to be better. He had to do the work. Ron and Harry love me, and that is part of why they wanted to make it right at the Ministry, but they wouldn't have missed sleep and food and family on a holiday for Draco if he hadn't earned some of their trust and admiration. They worked that hard because that is what friends do, and I think they are his friends now. After all of this."

Hermione looked up from her speech to see the professors looking above her, smiles playing at their mouths. A warm hand fell on her shoulder and squeezed her arm. She turned to see Draco looking down at her. He looked exhausted. He gave her a small smile.

"You didn't let Minerva pour your tea, did you, Hermione?' He winked at the professor, who rolled her eyes and pursed her lips as her fellow teacher snorted into her cup.

"Hello, Draco. My condolences for your loss." Professor McGonagall smiled a sad smile at her newest friend. Hermione considered the nuances of this simple thought. It could mean so many things.

Draco looked drawn. "Thank you. Fancy a walk, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded and excused herself, grabbing her cloak. They made their way out of the castle to a day that was really too raw for a ramble when Draco turned and grabbed Hermione, threading his fingers through the hair at her nape, and kissed her hard. It took her by surprise, and she let him go for a while until she was able to soften it and calm him. He broke the kiss and put his forehead to hers, his breath fast and shallow.

"I just...I missed you. And I heard you, earlier, and I...it's just been...so much. And to hear say that you know I am working on all of this, on me...and I was feeling so dark and lonely yesterday...wondering if it all mattered..."

Hermione whispered. "It matters. You matter. You matter to me."

Draco smiled sadly. " I confess I got too used to having you close to me. I'm glad you were here, I really am. But I need you."

Hermione nestled into his chest. "We all need each other. I know you aren't used to it. But I believe what I said to the professors. You are stronger than you realize. You are better."

Draco put his chin on the top of her head. She could feel his deep voice vibrating through her. "I'm glad I'm back here. I'm glad my mother has Andromeda now. And Munro. I'm glad we can begin to move on now."

"Munro?" Hermione wondered why Draco would mention his employee, no matter how devoted or trusted, in the same manner as he would his aunt.

"My mother and I stayed up very late last night, talking. I know that he's been with our family forever, and I know he's always been a useful gillie and a groundskeeper. I always wondered why my father put up with a Squib, and later I wondered why a Squib would want to be around us. Now I know."

Hermione looked at him wonderingly, remembering an echo of a conversation she had once with the kindly man.

"He's in love with your mother, isn't he, Draco?"

"Yes. The Highlands home belonged to the Blacks. He fell in love with her over a series of summers. She married my father. Munro never left her. He won't leave her now."

Hermione sighed. "That is very romantic. And terribly sad."

Draco nodded and let go of a deep breath. "I've had my fill of sad for the year, and we haven't even finished a week of January. I'm glad I'm back here. I want to make plans. I want to have fun. I want to have fun...with you," he murmured as he nibbled her neck and tickled her under her ribs, making her squeal. She pulled away and ran, taking big gulps of icy air, her feet picking deftly over frozen stumps and clods of earth. He gave her a head start, and she ran harder as she heard his footfalls pounding behind her, and suddenly her legs gave way and flew into the air as Draco scooped her up and carried her, laughing, back to the castle. They'd spent months recovering from death, and now it was time for them to live.


	41. Postscript and Drabble

**A/N:** Once a story is done, it's done. Or it _**should**_ be, but I posted a chapter to the sequel to this story ("Charms Can't Fix Us: Practical Magical Applications), and then I went back and dug in the corners of this story a bit. I hope you humor me and allow me to share a drabble here with you. I won't update this story _**any more **_ (like ever, like seriously), but I think I _**will**_ keep writing about these two and their friends in new stories and drabbles. I have appreciated all the kind reviews, follows and likes. Thank you for taking the time out of your days to reach out. - Cords x

Draco shifted his gaze from the ceiling to the bedside table. He felt for his wand. With a whispered _Lumos_, the gray blue of the room receded, and with a tingle of foreboding, he pointed to the brass travel clock in front of a pile of potions texts. _Twenty past two._ Draco exhaled a shuddering sigh. He'd survived Voldemort, and falling piles of castle, Fiendfyre, and a trial in front of the full Wizengamot that only addressed his crimes and not his cruelties. But he had come within a slim margin of _not_ surviving his mind. The Muggle-born Healer had called it post-traumatic stress; she had said that he would have fared much better had he been supported.

A voice he didn't recognize as his had said that if he had been supported, maybe he would have been someone else.

He wasn't sure how many days after that had passed; he'd not been allowed to leave St. Mungo's, but he wouldn't have dreamt to test the wards. A nurse, her voice firm, would break through the cotton wool and the buzzing and set his hours with requests. _"Please go bathe now, Draco. You should eat now, Draco. You should sleep now."_

Sleep had only grabbed him from behind, and his fear of being attacked at every turn, and the lump growing in his gut that he'd not felt before kept him from rest and healing. After two months, he'd thought he might never leave, or want to.

And then Carna had come. She had told him that the lump was grief and probably remorse. That it was a good sign, but a painful one, for losing everything you believed once is a death, even if what you believed was evil. There was no coddling with Carna, but there was a tolerance that made him feel worthy in a way he had only experienced with his mother, when she had finally become afraid enough to be brave.

Carna had told him he could be learn to be brave, but he would need her help. He had gotten scared and tired enough to want it, and he had gotten better. It was painful. There was so much to do. And sleep sometimes still eluded him.

In the early hours of the morning, the thoughts that were menacing enough by day became dark, heavy stones on his chest.

Tonight he thought about Hermione, a girl who had danced in his head for years, a girl whose reflection had showed the worst of him. She terrified him, because she, more than anyone or anything in his broken world had transformed after he had shaved, and combed his hair, and left St. Mungo's. She made his wand hand itch to defend himself as she slid, quietly, into a bench in the Great Hall, reaching for the teapot and the toast rack. She wore her hair piled in a bun, now. He didn't remember the pearl earrings or that look that sliced through him and made his fingers shake.

Carna had said it was he who was changing.


End file.
